Arena
by whatshouldntbe
Summary: During the last six months of her first year into her captaincy, Jim Kirk is forced to revisit her dark past when a rumor surfaces around the ship concerning the suspected whereabouts of Governor Kodos. -third sequel-
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Arena  
**Universe/Series:** Part Three of '_What Shouldn't Be_' series, Reboot XI/TOS  
******Rating:** R  
******Relationship status:** first time, slow build K/S  
******Plot:** The demons of the past will always compromise the promise of the future.  
******Warnings:** always!girl Kirk, angst, action, character death, language, references to past child abuse, rom-com humor, sexual situations, violence, possible amateur world-building  
******Additional Pairings:** Kirk/guy!Rand, Spock/Uhura (terminated relationship), unrequited Kirk/Spock  
******Summary:** During the last six months of her first year into her captaincy, Jim Kirk is forced to revist her dark past when a rumor surfaces around the ship concerning the suspected whereabouts of Governor Kodos.

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**Prologue**

**STARDATE 225308.22**

**Manhattan, New York**

**Lady Liberty Diner**

On a Saturday night in the middle of the diner, a crowd surrounds a table of card players. Three surly biker dudes sit across from a gorgeous blonde wearing an abstract bikini top with silver pens sticking out of her top, high waist cutoff shorts and a lime green foam Statue of Liberty crown with a hairstyle pinned back in a old fashion pin-up. Her fingernails are painted a blood orange color and her lipstick is an enticing peach pink. She lifts her blue eyes from the cards in her hands before she sets them down.

The three surly biker dudes curse and throw down their cards, causing the crowd to make such an animated commotion over the outcome.

Jim shouts excitedly as she wins yet another hand at poker. "Alright fellas, gimme those credit cards. What was the wager again? One hundred and fifty credits, I believe."

"Shit girl. You sure can clean up house can't ya?" one of the men mutters as they all fish into their wallets for their credit card.

Jim digs into the devil red handbag at her feet and pulls out her PADD. One by one she takes their cards and takes her time pressing the numbered side to the screen of her PADD, subtracting the amount of credits owed to her and depositing it into her bank account. When she's finished, she hands them back with a provocative smirk and a wink, and says, "Pleasure doing business, boys. We should try this again next time I'm in town."

The three biker dudes just grumble and rise from the table, exiting the diner and leaving Jim to stew in her victory. Just as they leave, Bones and Kenya enter the diner, looking around curiously. Kenya is in a flowing green sundress and sandals while Bones is wearing some jeans and short sleeved black t-shirt.

Jim hops up and waves her arm. "Over here!" she exclaims and motions them eagerly.

Kenya smiles and waves, while Bones lifts an eyebrow, allowing himself to be dragged over.

"Happy Birthday, Bones," Jim says and throws her arms around him. "How old are you now? A hundred? Hundred and twenty?"

"Ha, ha. Hilarious, Kid," Bones snarks as he pulls back with a fond shake of his head.

Jim takes a moment to study him and she rests her eyes on his head. "You cut your hair—what did you go and do that for?"

"You can thank your Vulcan for that. He kept pestering me about it, saying it wasn't regulation and blah, blah," Bones explains with a scowl.

Jim smiles and takes a moment to remember how much she's missed seeing that scowl. She turns to Kenya with a grin and says, "And look at you! You're glowing. And you've gotten huge." She presses a hand to Kenya's rounded belly, which is poking out like a small beach ball under the sundress she's wearing.

"I think it's because I eat everything," Kenya jokingly explains. "It's probably driven Leo crazy."

"You know I don't mind gettin' you whatever your craving," Bones says softly and kisses her on her temple.

"Even when it's three in the morning?" Kenya presses.

"Even then," Bones insists. He gives a small grin when she beams at him and pinches his cheek.

Jim clears her throat. "Well, sit, sit. You don't need to be on your feet. I want hear about how you've been spending your time off."

"Oh sorry, I would love to stay, but I promised my grandmother I would come and see her before the day ends. Maybe some other time," Kenya says regrettably. She kisses Bones on the cheek before she gives Jim another hug. "You two have fun, and happy belated birthday, Jim."

"Thanks. Be safe," Jim says and takes a seat as she watches Kenya waddle her way out of the restaurant. "So," she starts as Bones turns gaze to her while he sits across from her. "Excited to be a dad again?"

Bones rests his forearms against the edge of the table as he levels her with a stare. "Why have you been avoiding me?" he asks instead.

Jim frowns and leans back as she crosses her legs and her arms. "What do you mean? How have I been avoiding you?"

"You know how. This is the first time I've seen you since we returned home, got debriefed and went our separate ways so they could get to work repairing the Enterprise with better security equipment and et cetera," he clarifies with an annoyed scowl. "Then you just disappear from off the face of the planet. I had to contact _Spock_ just to keep tabs on you. Do you know how pleasant it is for me to have to be civil to him in order to pry information out of him?"

Jim rubs her lips together as she shrugs wordless and keeps looking at him.

Bones mutters under his breath as he rubs a hand up and down the crown of his head. "Jim—I don't like when you do this. I don't like when you pull away from me instead of just telling me what's wrong," he says.

Jim stays stubbornly silent.

"Are you trying to make me jealous? Is that it? Because I have to say you're doing a bang up job by staying in _constant _communication with your pointy-eared First Officer," Bones gripes with a glare.

Jim rolls her eyes in annoyance. "Don't start with this."

"Start with what? What am I starting with? I'm not the one who's being a damn child about this whole thing," Bones snaps back, ignoring the looks their receiving. "And FYI, it hasn't escaped my notice that this whole thing started _after _I told you Kenya was pregnant."

"So what?" Jim exclaims and throws her hands up. "Maybe it did. Maybe—maybe I was trying to give you two space. I didn't want another situation or dispute happening like it did with Uhura and Spock. Let me let you in on a little secret, Bones—women can be just as competitive and jealous as men, and I didn't want Kenya to feel like—I don't know. I just thought it'd be better this way."

"You're a goddamn idiot," Bones retorts.

"Oh thanks for that."

"Well you are because if you'd just talk to me—if we'd just _talked_, then you would know that despite things, nothing is going on between Kenya and I," Bones admits.

Jim stares at him in confusion. "But the baby—"

"Yeah, the baby," Bones echoes. "Not mine."

"What?"

"Not mine," Bones patiently repeats. "If you'd just stuck around long enough for me to finish explaining that before running off like some lovelorn twelve year old, you'd already know that two months ago. Didn't you find it odd that she was that big for it to have only been two months?"

"Well, yeah," Jim says as her frown increases. "So it's not yours?"

Bones gives her an exasperated look.

"Okay, okay," Jim laughs and lifts her hands placatingly. "Holy shit, Bones. If it's not yours then—"

"You're not gonna like the answer to that one anymore than you did before," Bones warns and now Jim is really intrigued. "You can't say anything to anyone, alright? Kenya's sensitive about it enough."

"Yeah, sure. I wont say anything."

"It's Mitchell's."

Jim's jaw falls open.

"It happened six months ago, and she didn't know anymore about him then we did," Bones goes on to explain. "But it doesn't matter now, because she's five months pregnant. That's not even the killer part."

Jim snorts skeptically but she doesn't say anything as she takes it in.

"Jim, she's the fifteenth person who's gotten pregnant in the last six months while aboard your ship. Now what do you make of that?" Bones asks.

"Something in the water?"

"I'm being serious," Bones says with a solemn frown.

Jim sighs and leans forward as she tries to think. "Um, I don't know. Coincidence?"

"I wish it was that simple," Bones replies. "You want to know what I've been doing on my time off? I've been lookin' into it. I've called every female crewmember that was assigned to the Enterprise in the last six months and eighteen of them have told me the same thing. They're pregnant."

"Wait, but you said fifteen actually are—and now your saying eighteen. What exactly—" she pauses when she notices the look he's giving her. "Oh. Right."

"Right," Bones concurs with a sigh. "Eighteen got pregnant but only fifteen _stayed _pregnant."

Jim makes a face and says, "Please tell me they're not all Mitchell's."

"Oh they're not," Bones assures with a wry snort. "But doesn't make it any less peculiar."

"You don't think Dehner or Mitchell have anything to do with that, do you?" Jim asks.

Bones shrugs. "Hard to say at this point. We've just got to keep our eyes peeled and see if anything else strange pops up."

"Yeah," Jim agrees faintly. "So—what's Kenya gonna do? Obviously she's decided to keep the baby, even after all this."

"She's going to stay with her grandmother until the baby's born. Then she figures she oughta move back to Ghana and settle down there," Bones confesses.

"Wow," Jim merely says. She stands and motions for Bones to follow and together they sit at the bar. She flags down a waitress. "This calls for some mint chocolate chip ice cream."

Bones snorts but he doesn't disagree.

"I'm gonna miss Kenya. She had such a gorgeous smile. I'm sad to see it go," Jim admits. She orders two cups of ice cream—one for her and a strawberry sundae for Bones. "I wonder what Uhura thinks about all this. Maybe I'll ask Spock and see—"

"What is this? You two are best friends now?" Bones grouches and glares at the surface of the bar. "One minute you can't stand to be in the same room with him and now you two are swapping lipsticks like junior high pals."

"Oh my God, Bones. Can you not be anymore obvious with your jealousy?" Jim fumes and glowers at him.

"Well at least I have the gull to be obvious instead of bouncing across the country from beach to beach, surfin' and givin' my best friend a headache about my whereabouts because I'm being stubborn fool about my feelings," Bones returns with a pointed stare.

Jim just rolls her eyes in annoyance and looks away. "Look, I'm sorry, alright. It was petty, and I'm sorry." She takes a moment to sigh before she faces forward. "I was just worried that our friendship was already ending. I mean, here you are with this gorgeous new family in the works and a possible new life." She looks down and shrugs. "There wasn't even a guarantee that once the Enterprise was re-commissioned you'd be there. And I couldn't blame you for that, and I wasn't going to make you stay, even though I really fucking wanted to."

"You can relax," Bones grumbles as he rest his hand over hers. "I told you before, I'm not so easy to get rid of. It's this thing with Spock that's bothering me. I don't like it because I don't like him."

"We're just friends."

The waitress sets down their glass of ice cream.

"For now."

"Please don't do that," Jim sighs and rubs at her eyebrow as a headache tries to build. "Bones, I love you. You're my best friend and you're my brother. We've got our issues because we've got some complicated unresolved feelings for each other. It's going to take time. And who knows? We might end up—"

"Don't say it," Bones says. "I don't need you putting the idea in my head. It's already planted but I'm not letting it grow. Let's just leave it at best friends who sometimes get jealous over each other and find one another attractive but will ignore that fact for the sake of each other's happiness, and for the undeniable fact that one day we might find someone who we'd like to spend the rest of our lives with."

"I'll toast to that," Jim lifts her glass of ice cream and clinks it to Bones's with a grin. "Happy birthday, Bones."

"Happy belated birthday, Jim. Let's hope the rest of this year is a quiet one," Bones says as they start to dig in.

Jim does more than hope, but her guts tell her that it won't be so simple. She shoves a spoonful of mint chocolate ice cream in her mouth and thinks of her ship. Two more days and they'd be sailing the stars once more.

(**_picture of scene above can be found in my livejournal in the same chapter at the end_**)

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**Author's Note: **_I don't know about you, but I'm excited to dive in. Speculations about what's to come?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One**

Bones doesn't let Jim out of his sight.

For that last week of August, they stay attached to the hip. It practically drives Jim crazy because she knows what Bones's game is. All this hovering and crowding her personal space is his way of silently paying her back for going AWOL on him all of two months and a half. And yes, maybe vanishing off the face of the Earth without a 'hello, I am fine' now and again to her best friend in the whole wide universe was a bit cruel of her. Especially so when this past year all she's really done is nothing but die. She can truly understand why Bones is milking their time alone together for all its worth. She's enjoying it too—she wouldn't pass up on an opportunity to keep Bones's full attention, even though most of the time she doesn't have to try hard to get it. And they have tremendous fun while they're in New York. They go to the zoo with little precious Joanna, who has grown the last time Jim saw her. They take walks through the park in the evenings and go club hopping at night. They go to carnivals and wine tasting seminars. They even go to a spa without Bones fussing over his declining testosterone as they both get facials.

It's by far their best week of the year.

But at the same time its nearly not so great because Bones has this tendency of making dick comments about what she's eating, where she's going, and who she's talking to ("It better not be, Spock, damn it, he's had his turn!"). She nearly snaps his stupid southern neck once or twice, and during their week of fun they argue like crazy, and, silly enough, like an old married couple. In fact the only thing that gets them to stop is when some random person walks up to them and asks them how long they've been married, or how they're such lovely newly weds, or if they've set a wedding date yet.

It's a week of ups and downs that test Jim's patience and sanity.

So needless to say, she's relieved when the first day of September rolls around, because it means they'll be packing their bags that early morning and flying down to San Francisco (much to the bereavement of Bones). They catch the six a.m. flight because Jim has to meet with Admiral Barnett to discuss the future plans of the Enterprise. Bones is twitchy from the get-go and they spend a good ten minutes arguing as they check their bags, which shouldn't even be an argument because all Jim is asking Bones to do is dose himself with a sedative so he can sleep through the flight. But, no, Bones wants to be stubborn about the whole thing, making a fuss about how the shuttlecraft could go down at anytime and how he refuses to die in his sleep. At which point Jim shuts her mouth and walks away without another word. She takes a seat in the back next to a window and buckles in, smiling with thanks when a flight officer hands her a magazine. She avidly ignores the fact that it's her face plastered on the front page behind some ridiculous gossip headline.

Bones joins her a few minutes later, still looking disgruntled and annoyed.

Jim ignores him as she scans an ad for lingerie with particular interest. She hears him shift and grumble a few times before the hiss of a hypospray follows and a sigh. Before she can ask, he's crowding into her space and resting his head in her lap. She looks down at him as he sniffs and closes his eyes and she bites her bottom lip to keep from smiling victoriously.

"Stop smiling," Bones complains without opening his eyes.

"I'm trying not too!" Jim exclaims with a laugh as she tosses the magazine to the side and gently runs her hands through his short hair. "You should have consulted me before you cut off your gorgeous hair."

Bones snorts tiredly. "Like I said before, you can thank your know-it-all First Officer."

"He's not getting a thanks from me, I don't approve of this at all. And firstly, it's _my _ship so that means this was _my _hair you chopped up," Jim grumbles with an unhappy frown. "Liked your hair how it was."

"So did I," Bones agrees with a yawn. "Wake me when we get there."

Jim hums her consent and leans back in her seat as his breathing evens out. Not long after, the shuttle lifts off, and the next two hours of the flight is pleasantly quiet. Bones doesn't stir once and Jim takes the time to just relax and not think of anything in general. When they land, she gently nudges Bones awake. He's groggy but he's up and out without much effort. Jim just snorts and follows him to the rear side so they can retrieve their bags. After they find the time to change into their grey dress uniforms and toss their things along with the growing pile of luggage in the hangar bay, they walk towards Starfleet Headquarters. On their way to meet Admiral Barnett, while Jim is playing keep away with Bones's hat, they run into Sulu, who's also outfitted in his grey dress uniform.

"Oh my God I'm so happy to see you!" Jim exclaims with an excited squeal she'll later deny. She shoves Bones's hat into his chest and practically throws herself onto her helmsman.

Sulu laughs and wraps an arm around her as he uses his other hand to shake Bones's hand in greeting. "Yeah, I was trying to surprise you. Leonard said you guys were down here and I figured I might track you down," he explains.

Jim pulls back with beaming smile. "Well consider me surprised and elated," she assures. "I know this is a totally idiotic question but you're here to stay, right?"

"Yes, Jim, I'm here to stay. For as long as you'll have me," Sulu confirms with a chuckle.

"Don't go sayin' that, she'll never cut you loose, so run while you still have the chance," Bones warns and winces when Jim smacks his chest with the back of her hand.

"Don't be a punk, Bones. I'll cut _you _right on loose," Jim playfully threatens before her expression turns more solemn, and she looks at Sulu to say, "I heard about your father. My deepest condolences to you and your family."

"Thanks," Sulu says as his lips fold into a grim line. "It helps to know that the people responsible have gotten what they deserved. It's going to take time still, but I'm getting better."

"Yeah, of course," Jim agrees sympathetically. "And if you ever need time off or anything at all, just let me know okay? What's the point of being captain if I can't pull some strings now and again."

"I appreciate that, and I'll let you know if I ever need those strings pulled," Sulu assures with a grateful smile. "So, where are you two headed off too?"

"Well I have to meet with Admiral Barnett to talk the Enterprise's next move and Bones was going to meet with some people in regards to making sure that my ship is efficiently outfitted with all medical supplies and equipment," Jim says. "Then we were going to go grab a bite to eat at my favorite diner before we report back to the hangar for take off tonight."

"Mind if I tag along? I don't have anything going for me today," Sulu admits.

"Yeah—Sulu, you don't even have to ask," Jim says, shoving at his shoulder lightly. "Why don't you hang with Bones for a bit while I get my official business out of the way and I'll come get you guys when I'm done?"

Bones and Sulu nod, and with a wave, they're off.

Jim enters headquarters, and with the help of a lovely redhead receptionist, she finds her way to Admiral Barnett's office. The door is open and Admiral Barnett seems to be in a heated debate with Admiral Marcus.

"—I'm telling you and you won't listen. If we plan this right, we can use his knowledge to win this war," Admiral Marcus insists.

"His past is a little hard to overlook, don't you think?" Admiral Barnett merely replies as he stands. "Or are you forgetting?"

"No, I haven't forgot," Admiral Marcus responds tightly. "But I'm not blind to the fact that we can use every available asset we have to win a war we all know is coming."

"Look, why don't we talk about this later," Admiral Barnett says before he flicks his gaze over to Jim. "Captain Kirk. Come in please."

Admiral Marcus stiffens at the realization that they are no longer alone before he snatches his hat from off the desk and storms out the room.

Jim makes a face as she takes her hat off out of respect and places herself on the other side of Admiral Barnett's desk. "Did I come at a bad time?"

Admiral Barnett just shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "No you came right on the mark," he says and offers his hand.

Jim shakes his hand with a smile.

"Have a seat please," Admiral Barnett instructs as he takes the time to sit down at the same time Jim does. "Now, Captain Kirk. Tell me—can I rely on you for the next six months?"

"I don't see why you couldn't," Jim replies as she laces her fingers over the top of her hat.

"Good answer," Admiral Barnett says with a chuckle. "How are you?"

"Considering the crazy year I've had so far—I'd say I'm pretty level and ready to get back out there," Jim answers.

"Most people would've had enough by now."

"Well thank God I'm not most people."

"I'm just glad you're on our side," Admiral Barnett says as he folds his hands over his desk. "You are some ally. And we're not even mentioning the fact that you have an entire League of Realms full of advanced intellectual beings backing your every move."

"I try to stay out of the papers—does everyone know about that?" Jim asks with a concerned frown.

"I believe NBC's Dateline did a whole two hour special about your life story."

Jim gives him a mortified look.

"You're a celebrity now, Kirk. Get used it," Admiral Barnett simply says. "Now, since we've got the small talk all sorted, we'll get down to business matters." He reaches into a drawer and pulls free a PADD. He sets it face up on the middle of his deck and clicks an application that causes a virtual pop up of a red planet. "This is a class M planet located in the Jaradan sector. It's the designated planet the Vulcan Council has chosen as a new home for the remaining Vulcan race. Captain Kirk, tell me what you know about the Jarada."

"The Jarada are a reclusive, insect-like species who are known for their idiosyncratic attitude toward protocol and especially for their peculiar language," Jim reports, pulling from what knowledge she's learned of them in her days back in the academy. "The slightest mispronunciation of their language by an outsider is regarded as an insult. Although the Federation has tried on numerous occasions to create a pact or come to some sort of understanding with them, miscommunication usurps the attempt because they are so easily irritated and its back to square one."

"Very good," Admiral Barnett says. "Somehow the Vulcan Council has successfully managed to negotiate this previously uninhabited planet into their custody with very little conflict in regards with the Jarada. The Jarada likes them it seems. Starfleet, not so much."

"They don't like the Federation, and Starfleet happens to wave their banner," Jim points out. "So I'm guessing this is presenting a problem."

"In order for New Vulcan to have a fruitful formation, they need the proper means to do so, of which, only the Federation is able to provide. Do you understand the setback here? The planet is within the Jaradan sector, therefore under their territory. So we would need direct permission to allow our ships to pass in and out," Admiral Barnett states. "The Jarada have agreed to allow us to do such, but only under the stipulation that they are given a precise greeting by the Federation's emissary. Guess who we chose."

"Oh, joy," Jim drawls and plasters on a fake smile that's all teeth and sarcasm.

Admiral Barnett chuckles and says, "You did say I could rely on you for the next six months, Jim. Well I'm booking you all up for this assignment. The Vulcans have been long time allies to us and in the wake of their loss, it is only right we offer all the resources we have to help them get on their feet again."

Jim doesn't doubt that.

"As you may already know, Commander Spock has spent the better part of this summer on New Vulcan with his people in efforts to start establishing a good relationship with the Jarada on Starfleet's behalf until we elected a more permanent candidate, which we have," Admiral Barnett goes on to say. "Commander Spock has been debriefing Lieutenant Uhura on the present culture and language of the Jarada. She will act as your crutch, Jim, and hopefully soften any misunderstandings or accidental offenses that may arise between you and the Jarada. It's her responsibility to ensure you are on your best behavior and I have communicated that to her. If all goes well, the rift between our two governments will be properly mended."

"I'll do my best to make sure there is a positive outcome," Jim promises.

"I hope so—because you're the face of the Federation now," Admiral Barnett states. "I've already forwarded a list of supplies that are being stocked on the Enterprise as we speak. You and your new Yeomen, who will be waiting for you when you make board, should take the time to confirm that everything is accounted for before you leave. I'd like to be notified of that confirmation."

"Yes sir," Jim says as she stands.

"I've taken the liberty of doubling your crew, most of whom will be aiding the Vulcans with any and all building projects. With combined efforts, they should have homes and infirmaries and schools to call their own before the year is out. And again, like I said, if things go well with you and the Jarada, we can send more and more supplies and physical assistance through all available ships."

"Understood."

"You have your orders, Captain Kirk," Admiral Barnett says. "Now, what is your objective for the next six months?"

"To ensure that New Vulcan and its inhabitants are suitably accommodated by delivering the supplies they have indicated need of, which in turn would require me to oversee any incoming and outgoing exchanges between Starfleet and New Vulcan, while maintaining peaceful negotiations with the Jarada that will hopefully extend well into the future," Jim replies.

"Then you understand the weight and responsibly of the mission sanctioned to you and have verbally relayed to me that you accept and agree," Admiral Barnett says as he stands. "Good luck."

"Thank you, sir."

"Dismissed."

888

"Six months?"

"Yup."

"Holy shit," Sulu says as he jams another steak cut French fry in his mouth. He sits across from Jim and Bones on the other side of the booth they're occupying.

Jim has just outlined, in great detail, her entire conversation with Admiral Barnett.

"Well I for one, like it," Bones admits as he takes another bite of his burger. "There's minor danger involved, and I get to keep my feet on the ground."

"You do realize New Vulcan is supposed to be at least three times as hot as the planet that preceded it," Jim points out as she takes another bite of her chicken gyro while simultaneously shoving some fries in her mouth.

"Doubt it'd bother me," Bones replies between chews. "You forget I was born and raised in that kind of weather."

"Oh yeah," Jim says as she remembers. She throws a fry at him. "You suck."

"Yeah, that is not going to be fun," Sulu adds as he takes a sip of his milkshake. "Might be good idea to stock up on the suntan lotion and sun hats."

Jim snorts. "Meanwhile I'm going to shrivel up and die once I set foot on the surface," she bemoans between bites.

"Quit bein' so dramatic. You know no one is going to let that happen," Bones says.

"I have to get that one lotion, the only fucking one I'm not allergic to," Jim says as she shoves the last fry on her now empty plate into her mouth.

"Already done," Bones announces.

"What? How?" Jim says skeptically. "You didn't know where we were going until I just said."

"It pays to be one step ahead of your allergies, Jimbo—I've had to learn that the hard way," Bones merely explains.

"Yeah, that's true," Jim concedes as she starts sipping on her banana milkshake, which is partially melted by now.

"So who's this new Yeomen you mentioned?" Sulu asks as he pushes his empty plate to the side and leans back.

"Dunno," Jim admits. "Admiral Barnett didn't give me a name or anything. I just know that I'm supposed to meet him or her at the hangar bay."

888

"Janice Austin Cowboy Texas Rand was born on a rainy Tuesday afternoon to a Bucky and Kathryn Rand, who were both farmers and descendants to families of farmers. Farming was all they knew. Farming and the glorious, proud and, sometimes rather boisterous history of Texas. They're natives of Texas and live on shared land, both respectively inherited from deceased farming ancestors. Between them they have seven kids. Seven strapping boys. And well, you see, Kathryn and Bucky had, intentionally this time, tried for an eighth. Funny thing is that they were hoping for a girl, and also the family physician had sworn up and down that that was what they were getting. So, in preparation, they'd cleared out a room, painted it pink, put frilly knick knacks inside and stacked up on dresses and mary janes and ribbons and all sorts of things that a little girl could make use of.

"Kathryn got the honor of deciding the first name, figuring it was a right of passage for a mother to gift her daughter with such a thing. Janice was chosen in honor of her late grandmother, of whom she could remember many days in her youth learning the tricks of creating the perfect apple pie, and Bucky got dibs with one of the middle names. He picked Austin because that's where his whole family lineage started. The rest of the boys got the privilege of offering an additional set of names to tack on. Four of the youngest agreed on Cowboy—just on account of the fact they liked them—and the three oldest, like their parents, loved Texas with a fiery passion. So why not present it to their baby sister? But again, on that rainy Tuesday afternoon, the girl, only not a girl at all, emerged in a fit of flailing and husky cries.

"Kathryn and Bucky were baffled, and because it all seemed too soon and unexpected, they stuck with the names they chose, as well as the pink-themed attire and bedroom and knick knacks. Poor Rand would forever be taunted by his nitwit brothers for this embarrassing part of his life. He could never bring his friends home for in fear they would see the pictures of him in dresses and frilly pink get-ups. And while the misfortune of being badly named, he made up for it in brains, something the rest of his family severely lacked. And unlike his broad shouldered, calloused hand, work tanned and happily farming farmer brothers, he had dreams of sailing the stars. He didn't want to be a farmer.

He wanted to do something for his galaxy. And _wahlah_. Here I am. Pencil pushing the universe in a safer direction, one exact Starfleet form at a time," Rand says and lifts his hands with a shrug as he peers at Jim, who is sitting between him and Bones on the shuttle flying for the Enterprise. "And that is the story of my messed up childhood and why I have such an effeminate name."

"Wow," Jim says with a laugh. "I just wanted to know who you were named after. Never thought you'd go that deep with the whole life story and you even took the time to refer to yourself in the third person strangely enough but, huh, that's—wow."

Rand just grins as he turns forward with a carefree shrug. "I'm just excited to be here. I'm ready to be your go-to-guy," he says with a mock frown.

Jim nods with an amused smile. "Well I certainly appreciate your enthusiasm. I don't know if you heard, but our last Yeomen came to an unfortunate…_fate_."

"Oh yeah, I heard about that. Admiral Barnett explained the whole situation to me since I won out the position against like, fifty other officers who were gunning for the position. There are some good rumors about you and your ship flying around the academy, and with the open position, everyone was just vying for it. To be honest I was worried for a second that I wouldn't get it but here I am," Rand remarks. "And I promise I wont try to kill anybody or control the ship with my mind."

Jim laughs and says, "Thanks. I didn't even know I needed that reassurance until now."

Rand just smirks with a wink as he drops his head back against his headrest and closes his eyes. He's a very handsome man, and he's young like Jim, though he might be a few months older. He's got broad shoulders, large hands, dirty blonde hair, tan skin and a chiseled jaw that tenses with his deep Texas southern drawl in an enticing way. He's got these pretty cobalt blue eyes that makes even Jim envious. And he's tall too—not freakish giant tall but just, tall. She's always been a sucker for height. He has some impressive muscles under his uniform. He wasn't buff but he was definitely toned and he looked like he was strong enough to pick Jim up and press her into the wall until she needed him to keep her there because by this point he'd put his—

"Ow," Jim hisses and whips a glare at Bones who is scowling at her. "What'd you pinch me for?"

"You know why."

"Maybe I do but enlighten me, _Bones_."

"Its impolite to stare, _Kid_," Bones mutters as he gives her a pointed look.

"I wasn't staring. I was checking him out," Jim admits with a careless shrug. "You should try it."

"I second that," Rand pipes up as he opens his eyes and looks their way with a smirk. "I don't mind."

"See," Jim says as she looks back at Bones. "He doesn't mind, _Leo._"

Bones glares at both of them. "No thanks. Don't encourage her, please."

Rand just grins. "Janice Rand, you must be Leonard McCoy," he introduces and reaches over Jim to shake Bones's hand. "I read your dissertation. They still have it up on the Starfleet Chronicle's site under the featured section. Your topic was about the pyrrhoneuritis epidemic, right? Good stuff."

Bones looks surprised as he releases Rand's hand. "You read my dissertation?"

"Oh yeah," Rand assures as he turns to face Bones fully. "I was very impressed by how you went into great detail on its origins, and how you took the time to isolate the genetic code of the disease."

"You interested in medicine?"

"I dabble with all the fields. I like to know a little bit about the officers I do paperwork for," Rand explains. "When I read your paper, I could tell you really did your homework."

"My father contracted it," Bones clarifies with a grim frown. "I sorta had to do my homework on it. I had to know what I was dealin' with. Unfortunately, all that research came to nothing. He—committed suicide before I could get anywhere."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Rand says with a sympathetic tone.

Bones nods wordlessly.

"Bones," Jim says as she looks at him. "You never told me that."

"Never came up," Bones grumbles and sits back in his seat as the shuttle makes dock in the Enterprise's hangar.

"Yeah but—" Jim pauses to unbuckle her belts and stand as everyone on the shuttle does the same. "I figure this might be one of those things you'd tell me."

"It never came up," Bones insists as they exit the shuttle.

"So, what? You tell someone you've only known for five minutes about one of the most traumatizing events in your life and your excuse for me is that it never came up? Come on, Bones," Jim says with a frustrated frown. Irritation is biting into her gut.

"I said all I wanted on the matter and that's that. I didn't want to talk about it before and I don't particularly feel inclined to discuss it now," Bones snaps with a glare. "And if we really wanna get petty about this then I guess I have every right to feel indignant about the whole memory bonding thing you had with Spock."

Jim flushes in anger. "Wow, it is just like you to bring something like that up—"

"Oh it's just like me huh?"

"—especially when, _especially _when you know what the situation was with that. So for you to even compare now to then, is just stupid and a dick move, because it's not fair," Jim rebukes.

"I wasn't really tryin' to be fair," Bones counters. "You never asked me how I felt because we don't usually talk about it, and even knowing what the situation was doesn't make me any less upset about it. Jim, he got to see a side of you that I've been working three and a half years to catch. So don't act like my feelings on the matter is unjustified."

"I'm not trying to, but I don't need you comparing our friendship with my friendship with Spock every time we get into an argument. You know I hate that petty competitive shit," Jim points out. "And please don't write off my feelings either, because it really fucking stung when you just said what you said to Rand, then turned around and acted like I never deserved that kind of clarity."

"You don't tell me everything," Bones retorts. "So try to be a little less surprised when I return the favor."

Jim just laughs angrily and shakes her head. "You know, what? I can't even deal with you right now."

"Likewise," Bones counters. "I don't appreciate being told about how I should spill my guts about something very private whether I want to or not because never for once did I ever do that to you, Jim. Yes I've asked and wanted to know about your past, but I never pushed you or made you feel bad if you didn't want to open up about it, and guess what? You never really want to open up. So I'd consider that before you try to guilt me into talking about my father's suicide." With that being said, he storms off without even a glance back.

Jim purses her lips and crosses her arm as a mixture of guilt and annoyance floods her system. She sighs heavily before she wanders off to find Rand.

Hopefully the supply check they have to do will be enough to distract her from this whole mess for the time being.

Pinpointing the supplies are easy enough, and accounting for them by confirming that their specifics matched the lists forwarded to them is just as easy as well. Jim is happy to find that alongside Rand, this task is easily accomplished in under four hours. They split the work between themselves and keep a constant interaction through the use of their communicators. Rand makes her laugh and he is a very even-tempered and lighthearted kind of guy. No matter what her orders are, he's already ready and willing to follow through on them. People like that are a dime a dozen and she's happy he's apart of her clique.

"It was a pleasure working with you, Captain. We should take count of supplies more often," Rand says with a happy grin when they meet up at the end.

"You know, I am free most weekends, so you know what? We should do that," Jim agrees, playing along.

Rand chuckles and says, "Or we could get lunch sometime. Or dinner."

"Lunch sounds good," Jim says with mock thoughtfulness. "Dinner sounds better."

"Dinner. I like dinner. We should have dinner," Rand remarks with a solemn nod. "But not tonight."

"Not tonight?" Jim echoes with an amused smirk and crosses her arms.

"No," Rand drawls and makes a show of sighing regrettably. "You see my boss, although incredibly attractive and stunningly intelligent, has just this gaggle of paperwork that's been sitting stationary for longer than necessary. But it's not her fault because her last Yeomen went off the deep end. So now the paper throne has fallen to me."

Jim's eyebrows lift. "Paper throne?"

"Yup," Rand confirms as he gazes dramatically off in the distance. "I am the Paperwork King, and administration is coming."

Jim claps her hands together with a laugh. "Oh my God. Was that a reference to George R. R. Martin's '_Game of Thrones_'?"

"Yeah, did I mention I'm a bit of dork?" Rand says and bites his thumbnail as his nose scrunches. "But anyway, the point is that I must lay claim to my throne this very night. Otherwise I would be more than happy to have dinner with you."

"Okay," Jim says with a smile. "I understand. I wouldn't want your boss, the um, what was it you said? Something about attractive and intelligent?"

"Not even going to repeat what I said because I'm sure you heard me clearly the first time and I'm sure I've broken like a boatload of regulations just to say them," Rand counters with a timid blush and a grin as he backs away. "But I will see you on the bridge tomorrow, if I haven't drowned in the sea of paperwork by then."

Jim says nothing, she's too busy trying to contain her amusement, and so she nods.

Rand walks backwards and gives her a two-fingered salute before he spins on his heel and disappears.

Jim's mouth rocks away the grin eating at her face and she snorts as she shakes her head fondly. She looks around with sigh, allowing herself some brief moments of silence. Her mood begins to dip as she recalls her little argument with Bones. Ultimately she ends up loosing her appetite, and as she heads back to her living quarters, she decides to switch out her clothes for some workout attire.

Running on the treadmill until she's sweaty and can't breathe is usually her choice method of shaking off stress.

888

On the morning of her first shift since the re-commission of the Enterprise, in the second day of September, Jim steps onto the bridge, makes her rounds to every station for a formal report and notices that Uhura is missing, a junior officer taking her place. She saves Sulu and Chekov for last, and doesn't miss the way they keep side-eyeing each other. She smirks and asks for a report. They both take turns explaining that the ship is in warp factor six and exactly four days away from the Jarada Sector. She ends the conversation with a bit of small talk before she leaves them to it.

Jim barely gets her butt down in her captain's chair when Uhura gracefully slides onto the bridge and ushers her out of her seat and towards the turbolift, barely giving the junior officer that's come to relieve her time to do proper protocol. She even ignores all Jim's questions until they've arrived at Uhura's living quarters. Now, it's no wonder that Jim is surprised at this turn of events because although they are on good terms, she'd never believe that they were in a place of their friendship where they would spend time with each other in the privacy of their living quarters.

Uhura goes to her dresser and riffles through a few drawers as Jim eases herself in and looks around. Uhura's room is quite exotic and holds true to her African roots. The furs on her bed are of zebra-skin print, and she has some Ghanaian sculptures and masks spread across and around her furniture, as well as paintings containing old-century tribal images.

"Um—Uhura, not that I mind being kidnapped by you, but um, what's going on?" Jim asks as she watches Uhura plop a wooden chair on the space between where her work area meets her bedroom.

"Sit," Uhura simply says and waits.

Jim frowns but she sits down, facing away from Uhura and towards the door.

"The future of our relationship with the Jarada rests on your shoulders, Kirk, and by default, mine as well," Uhura says as she walks around Jim until they have full view of each other. "This isn't going to be some one time deal meetings. These interactions will be frequent and many. I figure the best way to get you prepared is to hole ourselves up in my quarters until we arrive at New Vulcan and I feel we've perfected your ambassadorial skills."

"So you're holding me hostage until I morph into some kind of Princess Diana," Jim concludes as she notices that Uhura is hiding something behind her back.

"Don't do that. Don't joke. That's your first mistake," Uhura counters. "You have this tendency to joke in high stress situations, which is not always a good habit and certainly work in your favor with the Jarada. So," she pulls her hands from her back and reveals a riding crop.

Jim recognizes the brand right away. "What are you doing with a pleasure stinger?" She frowns, then goes a bit pink as she realizes. "Did—did you and Spock—"

"I don't believe that's any of your business," Uhura interjects coolly as she looks at Jim from under her long dark lashes.

Jim shifts subtly before she says, "Well what are you going to use it for?"

"For everything you do _wrong_."

"Hm," Jim says thoughtfully. "Will it leave a mark?" she says with a suggestive leer.

Uhura's mouth flattens and snaps the riding crop against Jim's right ankle, causing her foot to jerk at the unexpected shock of pleasure that races up her right leg and pulsates. "Don't get smart, _Kirk_," she warns. "This is for your benefit."

"Okay," Jim says weakly as the sensation of pleasure swelling in her inner thigh and ankle dissipates. She's trying really hard not to let any of this turn her on. This is supposed to be a professional lesson after all. But, fuck—Uhura and a riding crop is like a wet dream come true. "I know that you'll give me a _love tap _if I misbehave or get something wrong. What do I get if I'm an honor student?"

Uhura pulls her other hand from behind her back and reveals a huge bag of Ghirardelli chocolate.

"Oh that's just playing dirty," Jim whines with a pout as she fidgets in her seat and holds onto the sides.

"My teaching methods are a bit unorthodox," Uhura admits. "But effective nonetheless."

"I trust you," Jim merely says and laces her fingers over her lap.

Uhura stares at her with furrowed brows before she turns away quickly, and sets the bag of chocolate on the floor. She starts to circle Jim as she hits the top of the riding crop against her palm. "We'll start with the basics. I'll give you a bit of history."

"I like history."

Uhura snaps the riding crop against her left arm and Jim jerks against the zap of pleasure that warms over in a form of a bruise. "No talking unless I say."

"Fuck—sorry."

Uhura rolls her eyes and goes on to say, "There are a number of Jaradan hives. They have somewhat of a hive-mind, or a group mind that keeps track of each other to work in harmony. Each individual emits a sweet smelling marker scent determined by one's genetics and role in their society. Also when their names are broken down, it tells their place in society. One of the better-known hives is the hive Zel, which is colonized on the planet Beltaxiyan Minor…"

Jim listens with a willing ear and nods for her to continue.

"Their true origin date is unknown, and it's a private subject in their culture, so don't think for a second it's okay to ask them," Uhura warns. "Their exoskeletons range in different colors, from black to russet to copper, and they also vary in size as well. They have at least 3 known sexes: male, female, and castrate. When translating their language, their voices are multi-tonal, like many voices speaking at once, and consists of hums, clicks, and buzzes. Now repeat back to me what I said."

Jim takes a breath before she recants all the information she's been told.

She earns four chocolates, but she gets six lashes.

Uhura, despite her temperance, is a very patient teacher, and she rides out those four days with Jim like a champ. She teaches with balance and she doesn't punish Jim like she's a tyrant. And when it gets to be too much, she eases up and gives Jim some space to try again. They take breaks to eat and sleep of course, but they don't do much else outside of the lessons and Uhura refuses to let Jim leave.

Jim ends up learning a lot. She walks away with some pretty noticeable bruises scattered across her body, but she learns a lot.

She recites a few key factors in her mind as she showers, dries off, and then outfits herself with black underwear, pulling up sheer black tights that stop mid-waist. She steps into a pair of black boots that stop right in the middle of her calves. Then, saving the best for last, she slips on her short-sleeved gold dress uniform and smoothed her hands along her sides, primping her wrap-around braid resting on the middle of her head like a crown with a nervous sigh. She originally wanted to wear her grey dress uniform but Uhura strongly advised against it, stating that the Jarada preferred bright colors to dull greys.

Jim meets Uhura in the hangar bay, along with the rest of her senior bridge crew, and they board a shuttle intended for New Vulcan. Even though they would usually beam down, in this circumstance, Uhura felt it would be best if they arrived by more conspicuous means.

Jim sits in the back of the shuttle, as she usually does.

Uhura sits beside her and they spend the rest of the ride going over a game plan. Uhura of course would be doing most of the talking, but that's all she would be—a mouthpiece.

Jim would have to show her intentions through her body language.

"Remember—they are going to be watching your every move. So never cock your head or wink because those actions are the equivalent of giving someone the middle finger or asking for a fight," Uhura recaps. "Smiling is okay, but no show of teeth because for whatever reason, the teeth are considered erotic to the Jarada, and to flash any would be indecent. Keep your thumbs out of sight until we're sure we're in their good favor. And take off those tights."

"What?"

"You heard me," Uhura says with a firm look. "I told you no dark colors."

Jim huffs but she begins to unlace her boots and be as discreet as she can about slipping off her tights. She looks around, and unsure of where to put them, decides to stuff the tights under her seat.

"Eyebrow movement is very useful—just like we practiced. Up and down, up and down, at the same time, not one without the other. Eyebrows for us is like their antennae for them," Uhura says. "Shoulder movement is fine too, but keep your elbows tucked in. Don't blink too much and avoid sneezing."

Jim sighs and feels a stress-induced headache creep its way between her temples.

The shuttle touches down fifteen minutes later, and the nervous fluttery feeling pinpricking its way into her heart and stomach increases and makes her cringe before she forces herself to relax. She follows Uhura out the door and into the hot sun. The ground is rough under her boots and the air is very humid. New Vulcan reminds her of the Nevada desserts on Earth. The ground is full of rocks and sands, and there are red mountains in random areas far off.

In the distance, there is a huge camp made up of large tents that stand tall with pointed tips and between them are the unmistakable outlines of Vulcans, young and old, male and female.

Midway towards the camp, they are met by a group of Jaradans. Jim takes a moment to observe them in their true form. Physically, they have triangular faces with a broad foreheads, large compound eyes, a narrow pointed snout with a hooked jaw and sharp teeth, and long feathery antennae. They have barrel-like segmented torsos with four arms on the upper end. The lower pair are larger and the upper pair seem almost vestigial, and they have three clawed hands. They also have two pairs of legs, the lower pair being thicker and used for movement, and the top pair being thinner and used to balance the body.

In the midst of her observation, the Vulcan Council joins them—three women and two men, seemingly older than Sarek and Prime Spock—and they stand with the Jarada. Their dark eyes silently observe Jim, and the disapproval is clear when they look at her hair and her clothes.

A moment later, they are joined by three more: Spock, Sarek, and Prime Spock.

Spock, who is standing between Prime Spock and Sarek, studies Jim with an unhappy furrow of his brow that Jim can't even begin to figure out. It makes her feel a little timid about how she looks.

Sarek stands motionless, and his face is as neutral as ever, but he does not look at Jim unkindly.

Prime Spock's stance is nearly identical to all the other Vulcans, but his eyes are warm and happy as he regards Jim.

Jim tries to contain the smile that wants to break forth at the sight of her three favorite Vulcans, and for the sake of the situation, she manages to keep it at bay.

Uhura makes a gesture for the rest of the crew to stay where they are before she motions Jim to come closer with her. They stop an exact ten steps away from the Jarada, whose antennae are twitching curiously in their direction. She looks at Jim and Jim nods. Uhura begins to greet the Jarada in a series of hums, clicks, and buzzes.

Jim notes, with captivation, that Uhura is very skilled at it. If she didn't know Uhura, she would have thought she was born and raised as a Jaradan.

The Jarada ambassadors click and buzz simultaneously in reply for a long moment.

Uhura buzzes and hums, making careful indications to Jim before she hides her hands from view behind her back.

The Jarada ambassadors click and buzz among each other with twitching antennae and thoughtful nods. They settle down and begin addressing Jim again.

Uhura translates, "They want to know how old you are."

"Tell them I'm twenty springs old."

Uhura does.

The Jarada ambassadors hum and click, then buzz.

Uhura translates, "You are allies of the Vulcan. We enjoy them, but for you and yours, that is a different matter entirely. We understand that they are in need of things we cannot provide, but we will not be disrespected."

"It is not my intention to disrespect," Jim remarks.

The Jarada ambassadors give a rapid buzz.

Uhura translates, "When people do not respect us we are sharply offended. Without feelings of respect, what is there to distinguish men from beasts? We note this of human man and woman. In their private heart no human much respects themselves. Are you different?"

Jim responds, "Mistakes are a part of being human. I feel compelled to continue to be transparent. It really levels the playing field and eradicates the shame that I have, or that one might have, about being human. So I'll keep going and hope you forgive my blunders."

The Jarada ambassadors remain quiet for a moment before they speak up in a series of hums and clicks.

Uhura translates, "It is not your humanity that perplexes us. You seem so young. Is it not the surest way to corrupt a youth by instructing them to hold a higher esteem for themselves without ever sparing them the taste of humility? For one so youthful and unquenched by the mark of aging milestones, why should we pledge our peace to you, and by default, your Federation?"

"It is our intent to learn," Jim replies as Uhura translates. "We are all here to be a service to those who can't be a service to themselves. You educate us in the way of your customs, then you educate the mass, and the mass the generations."

The Jarada ambassadors nod considerably before the give three clicks, one hum and five buzzes.

Uhura translates, "An investment in knowledge pays the best interest. We welcome you, Captain James T. Kirk, and your people, and your Federation. You may come and go as you please. What your hands and feet set work to do, may you be fruitful and met with success. We look forward to the more of these interactions come the future."

The Jarada ambassadors nod with twitching antennae before they part ways.

The Vulcan Council, as well, seems satisfied with the outcome of the proceedings and disperses wordlessly.

When both parties are gone, Jim lets out a sigh of relief and allows her tense shoulders to relax. She jumps in surprise when her crew begins to clap and cheer. She smiles and laughs and gives a good bow.

Uhura rolls her eyes but she joins in on the clapping.

Jim calls up to her ship and gives them the go ahead to start beaming down the supplies and the rest of the crew, with the intent of setting up a separate camp for all the extra workers intending on giving their hand with the construction. She walks over to where Prime Spock, Sarek, and Spock are waiting expectantly. But before she can even open her mouth to greet them, Spock places a hot hand on her lower back and steers her away for some privacy.

"What? What did I do this time? I did good I thought," Jim mutters as she crosses her arms defensively. "Uhura, tell him I did good."

Uhura joins them with a curious frown. "She did better than expected," she offers. "There's nothing to worry about. The first meeting was fairly successful and hopefully future interactions between her and them will transition as smoothly."

"She is covered in bruises," Spock states as he eyes Jim's arms and legs unhappily. "The shade is consistently dark, indicating that the markings have been made recently. That is what alarms me." He looks at Jim with undisguised disapproval.

Jim opens her mouth to say something but nothing useful comes to mind so she looks at Uhura.

"I put them there," Uhura calmly explains.

"_Kah-if et'liwh yeht-shila-kloshai_," Spock replies, and that is so not fair because Jim is not fluent in Vulcan and he must know that, otherwise he would just say it in English, and it's not cool that they're having a conversation she can't understand.

Uhura's expression sours and she looks livid. "_Do-ri nisan wuh' dor-tor._"

"_Tra' itisha utvau,_" Spock counters, unblinkingly.

"She gave me consent," Uhura retorts impatiently as they switch back to English.

"Finally," Jim huffs in a low mutter.

"Nonetheless, it is still unsuitable and improper. She is your superior," Spock rebukes, ignoring Jim.

"_Understood_, but considering the situation, it was _necessary_."

"I fail to perceive how."

"I knew it would put her in the Jaradans good favor," Uhura explains with defensive exasperation. "Which is why I made sure to put the bruises where they could see. I then made it known to them that Captain Kirk, out of pure respect, suffered for the sake of learning the customs of their people. They immediately responded with positive receptiveness and garnered a respect for her. So relax Commander Spock, I wasn't intentionally being vindictive." She doesn't wait for a reply as she storms off.

Jim feels a bit awkward, and a little guilty. Uhura had been only trying to help. She says, "I'm fine, the negotiations went fine—everything is fine. I did give her consent. And, you know, the good thing about bruises is that they eventually fade."

"I am aware. However, I feel no more prompted to condone it despite understanding this fact."

"Well aren't you moody?" Jim notes as she takes a moment to really look at him. His shoulders are tense, his mouth set in a grim line, and his dark eyes are prudent. She's not sure, because it's hard to tell, but it seems like he's edgy because of something more than the current situation at hand. "What's wrong?"

"There is nothing '_wrong_', Captain," Spock flatly answers as his shoulders tense further. His spine is so straight that it looks like it might snap.

"You're a lot more grumpier than I thought you'd be," Jim admits as she goes on watching him. "I thought you'd be thrilled we're servicing New Vulcan for the next six months. I mean, you get to be among your people—"

Spock's right eyebrow gives a barely perceptible twitch and his shoulders tense further.

Jim stills in surprise. "Wait—what was that?"

"What was what, Captain?"

"That little twitch thing you just did when I brought up you being around your people," Jim repeats with an exasperated tone. "Is there something going on? Are you—have they been giving you like, I don't know, a hard time or something?"

The pause Spock gives is definitely noticeable. As neutrally as he tries to manage, he says, "Our interactions are no less different than in the days of my youth. It is no cause for concern. I will cope."

Jim rocks on her heels as her mouth scrunches unsurely while she watches him. "Okay. If you say so," she concedes, but makes a mental note to observe him carefully whenever he's interacting with another Vulcan. "But if they are giving you trouble, then you let me know and I will _politely _ask them to cease and desist."

Spock gazes at her for a long moment with a tiny glimmer of mirth in his dark eyes as his shoulders relax a fraction, and, clearly humoring her, he says, "I will keep that in mind."

"Good," Jim remarks as she puts her hands on her hips. "You should, Commander. As your friend, I feel it's only right that I get to be there for you and intimidate a few rude Vulcans in the process. And, well, if I can't do it, I'm sure I can talk your dad into doing it." She shrugs. "Speaking of your dad. What's he been saying about me while you've been here?"

"Nothing disreputable, if that is your concern."

"Yeah I know that," Jim huffs. "I haven't talked to him since that day we returned to Earth and got debriefed. I'm sure he's been counting the days until he can start nagging me about my _depraved habits _of putting myself in danger."

"He would disagree with your assessment of his behavior," Spock says as his eyes darken in amusement.

"Yeah he'd pretty much deny it and go right back to nagging me all in the same breath," Jim agrees with a snort. "I am really fond of him though. He means well. I know that."

"It has not escaped my notice that he holds equal fondness for you as well—otherwise he would not be so fretful," Spock remarks. "All the same, I suspect it would be equitable for you to acquire a regenerator and tend to your contusions—lest you have a desire to give my father a cause to '_nag'_. Furthermore, I suspect you have not properly prepared your skin for the exposure of the sun. Your cheeks have pinked, and not under the guise of embarrassment or excitement."

Jim's hands fly up to her face, and she winces when the skin of her cheeks tingle in pain. "Ow," she murmurs with a pout.

"Indeed," Spock notes as his dark eyes scan her thoughtfully with a sliver of amused concern. "The likelihood that the remainder of your skin will suffer the same fate is a prodigious prospect."

"It's not fair," Jim says as she continues to prod at her sore cheeks. "You're paler than I am. Why do I get the sunburn?"

"Vulcans are made to withstand such. Not all humans, however, can—"

"Shut up," Jim mutters petulantly. "It was a rhetorical question."

Spock stares at her and says, "You are exceptionally rude."

Jim snickers and shrugs carelessly as she drops her hands to her sides. "You say that about me and I can't help but to remember the fact that you're still my friend and my First Officer regardless."

"Then perhaps it would be in my best interest to reevaluate," Spock states coolly.

Jim jaw falls open and she laughs unbelievingly. "You are such a mean little Vulcan, you know that?" She makes an annoyed face at him before she turns and treks over to Prime Spock and Sarek. "Hello, Sarek. Hello, Spock," she greets politely.

"Jim," Prime Spock greets back with a small twitch of his lips and happy dark eyes.

"James. May I inquire on your welfare?" Sarek asks as he scans her and pointedly doesn't overlook the bruises on her arms and legs.

"I know what it looks like, but really, despite the bruises, I'm just fine," Jim swears with a reassuring grin.

"'_Fine_' has variable definitions, James. '_Fine_' is unacceptable, even by human standards," Sarek states with a dissatisfied frown. "You have a depraved habit of placing yourself in unsavory conditions. It is enough cause to worry."

"I'm okay!" Jim exclaims with exasperated fondness. "And I don't purposefully put myself in such risky situations. It just happens to happen to me more than others."

"Perhaps," Sarek concedes, but only barely. "We will continue this discussion within my marquee. Your cheeks indicate that you have not properly prepared your skin against the exposure of the sun. It would be wise to lead you to shelter until further accommodations may be made."

Jim waits until his back is turned before she makes a face and crosses her arms childishly.

"That is impolite," Spock murmurs, low enough that only she can hear but she still jumps in surprise.

"God, don't do that!" Jim hisses. "You're going to give me a heart attack."

"That would be most unfortunate," Spock dispassionately replies, as though he's merely humoring her. "I will endeavor to vocalize my presence, should I note that you are previously unaware."

Jim just narrows her eyes at him and rolls her eyes in a direction that doesn't have him in it. She's distracted a moment later by all the curious stares she receives from the wandering Vulcans in the midst of the camp. She can't help but to wonder what they must be thinking about her. She's so busy silently worrying about it that it takes her a moment to realize that they've arrived at Sarek's tent, and the three Vulcans are looking at her expectantly as they stand on either side of the opening of the tent.

"I'm not going in first, so I don't know what you're waiting for," Jim simply says as she furrows her eyebrows and waits for one of them to move.

Sarek doesn't sigh in exasperation, but he does straighten his posture a bit more and enters his tent with minor reluctance.

Prime Spock follows with quiet amusement, as though he is used to this kind of behavior.

Spock, however, is stubborn enough to wait for Jim to move before he does.

Jim decides to be a little less difficult and enter the tent. She sighs in relief at the coolness the shelter of Sarek's tent offers her. She wipes the back of her hand across her damp forehead as she joins Sarek on the large carpet in the middle of the room that sits under a leveled table.

Spock sits beside his older counterpart on the other side of the table.

Along the edges of the table, there is a set up of teacups, small dishes and spoons. The iron teakettle sitting on the middle and has a steady stream of steam rising from its spout. Beside it is a basket of fruit and thin crackers.

Sarek picks up the kettle and pours everyone a cup. He uncaps the top off a small bowl and reveals honey cubes, offering it to Jim. "I am given to understand that humans enjoy sweeteners with their drinks. I have taken the liberty to acquire some from the Jarada in preparation of your arrival."

"That's really thoughtful. Thanks," Jim says.

"She does not drink tea," Spock clarifies without being prompted and carefully extracts the cup set before her and sets it beside his own. "I will drink it, however, so that it may not be wasted."

Sarek inclines his head and does not comment on the matter, surprisingly enough, as he begins to drink his own cup.

"I do like this," Jim says, making a vague indication around them as she unlaces her boots and takes them off. She flexes her plum painted toes in relief before she tucks her legs under her like a pretzel. "This is really cozy," she goes on to say as she glances around the tent.

"It is suitable," Sarek merely replies over the rim of his cup. "Impermanent dwellings customarily are."

"Well I'm sure, but this is pretty nice. I hope mine looks as decent," Jim admits.

"You have plans to stay on the grounds?" Prime Spock questions as he lowers his cup.

"Yeah," Jim simply says. She leans forward and steals a cracker and a green apple. "Why wouldn't I? I'm responsible for a lot of people out there. So I think it's best if I stay in the mix of it all."

"A sound judgment," Sarek approves and Jim grins against her apple after she takes a bite. "You recently acquired time off. I am told you spent the duration of it traveling."

"Yup," Jim says, covering her mouth with a hand as she chews. "I did a bit of cross-continental beach hopping. I like to surf, and in my line of work, I'm unsure when I'm going to get the opportunity. Plus I just can't sit still for long periods of time. I have to be out and about, and I really do enjoy traveling."

"You do have a inclination to gesticulate," Prime Spock notes, and Jim has a feeling that she is being silently laughed at. "Though I suspect this quality has made you more than suited to your current job title."

Jim snorts, takes another bite of her apple and gives an agreeable shrug. "Tell me a bit about this planet. What should I expect?"

"The days are long, and the sun inhabits the sky well into the late evening hour," Sarek says. "The temperature remains elevated, even in the wake of the sun's departure. There are no seasonal changes and no moons."

Jim chews thoughtfully for a moment before she says, "So does it never rain or snow or anything? Any type of climate changes?"

"None that we have taken note of. It is a particularly mild planet," Prime Spock says. "The environment is very suitable for residence and will sustain life-forms for a promising millennia, and perhaps beyond."

"That's good," Jim decides. "I'd hate for you to have to leave after being settled. And what about the land? Is it fertile?"

"Despite appearances, it is uniquely fertile, needing only minor prompting for vegetation development," Sarek replies as he sets his cup down.

"But it doesn't rain," Jim points out. "Isn't that going to put a damper on things?"

"Not necessarily," Spock states. "The soil replenishes itself—suggesting that it pulls from an original water source that we have yet to locate."

"We have sent scourers to locate the source, so that we may in turn have sustainable access as well," Sarek clarifies. "By this time tomorrow, they will have returned and we will know."

"What about the construction? What's being built first?" Jim asks as she finishes off the rest of her apple and sets the core on her empty plate.

"We have anticipated the construct of a new _Vre'katra_, or Katric Ark," Prime Spock comments. "When we have settled the matter of the proper preservation of our heritage and culture, we can move forward in many ways."

Jim makes a thoughtful sound as she plucks a few crackers from the basket. She then lifts her gaze and gives Spock a pointed look.

Spock takes a final sip from his cup before he exchanges it for Jim's untouched cup. "There is a matter that Jim and I wanted to discuss," he says.

"And what is this matter precisely?" Sarek questions as he levels Spock with his gaze.

"The bond," Jim clarifies. "Is there a way to—effectively block both sides?"

Sarek shifts and he looks unhappy. "When will you learn that you can not deny the traditions of your origin, Spock?"

"Forgive me, father—but are you implying that my human genetics is cause for this inquiry?" Spock asks as he glares at Sarek. "Because if you are, you could not be further from the truth. This is a decision that we have equally established."

"You and James are _t'hy'la_," Sarek stresses. "It is a universally acknowledged fact among our people that there is no greater bond. Surely it is not the genetics you have inherited from me that seeks to dismantle it."

Spock stiffens and he says nothing. He flicks his gaze away and focuses on drinking Jim's untouched tea.

"We don't mean that we want it destroyed or anything," Jim tries, turning to Sarek as she tries to placate the situation. "I know there isn't a point, but perhaps, we could afford each other more privacy."

Sarek continues to gaze at his son with a dissatisfied frown before he turns his attention to Jim. "I do not blame you, James. You are not of our world, so you do not understand the dishonorable thing of which my son asks," he says.

"Actually, it was me who brought it up," Jim admits carefully. "And it's like Spock said. We've been discussing it over the summer, and its something we both want. I know that _t'hy'la_ means friend, brother and lover. Spock and I _are_ friends, so it still holds true. But someday we might find someone and want to spend the rest of our lives with that person. It would just be a comfort to know that the bond is shielded on either side. That's all we're asking."

Sarek says nothing.

"There are exercises that they could do to ensure the stabilization of certain shields," Prime Spock proposes. "I am familiar with the practice, and I would not mind aiding them."

"Very well," Sarek concedes, albeit reluctantly. "If this is what you both wish, I will not comment upon the matter. I do not approve, however."

"Sorry," Jim offers as she jams another cracker in her mouth. "But if Spock and I end up together by some freak occurrence, I will personally hand deliver an essay about how foolish and wrong I was and how I will never doubt your judgments again."

Sarek's dark eyes warm with fond amusement, and he says, "I will hold you to that, James."

Jim smiles as she pops a grape in her mouth. "So when can we start these exercises?" she asks, addressing Prime Spock.

"I am available tomorrow evening if it pleases you," Prime Spock replies.

"I'm fine with it," Jim says and flicks her blue eyes over to Spock. "How about you?"

"I will be available as well," Spock says.

"Great, then it's settled," Jim quips, then flushes when her stomach growls and causes all three Vulcans to flick their dark gazes to her as they simultaneously lift an eyebrow. "I kind of skipped breakfast?" she says with a sheepish scrunch of her nose.

"I will retrieve something," Prime Spock offers and stands. "I believe you will have need of a regenerator and some salve as well."

Jim's flush doesn't die off but she nods gratefully nonetheless.

"I will assist you," Spock says as he stands as well and follows his older counterpart out of the tent, leaving Sarek and Jim alone.

Jim plucks a few more grapes from the basket. "That was mean, you know," she says as she pops the grapes in her mouth one by one. "What you said to Spock. You know he's sensitive about his heredity."

"Indeed," Sarek acknowledges. "Perhaps I was callous with my words. I will apologize and attempt to consider his viewpoint more considerately."

"And," Jim goes on to say. "You should watch him when he's with the others."

"Others?" Sarek recants with a raised brow.

"Vulcans," Jim clarifies as she offers him a cracker. "I think they may be—giving him problems if you can catch my drift."

"I have noted his behavior as of late," Sarek confesses as he accepts the cracker from Jim, but he does not eat it. "Your concern is valid. In his youth, he experienced similar difficulties. There were those who felt inclined to verbalize their negative opinions of his human parentage periodically. I surmise the occasion has once again ensued. I have not witnessed such an interaction but I suspect they have occurred. Spock has made no indication, but his sullen behavior speaks for him."

Jim frowns unhappily as a spark of anger and sympathy sears lines into her heart and gut. "Maybe I should—"

"No, James," Sarek rebukes gently. "This is a conflict that only Spock can face."

"He shouldn't have to," Jim mutters as she crosses her arms. "I just feel that if I could—"

"You may not do anything that will compromise your stay on grounds," Sarek stresses in a way that says the discussion is over.

Jim's mouth fidgets and she doesn't press the issue. She just knows that if she gets the chance to do something she will. She's just unsure of how to go about it without ruffling anyone's feathers.

Prime Spock chooses this moment to enter, and he is alone. "Pardon my intrusion, but the Vulcan Council has called a meeting that we are required to attend," he says. "Jim, you will find your food in wait with my younger counterpart. His marquee can be found on the edge of camp, just west from here."

"Okay," Jim says as she stands. "I guess I will be seeing you, Sarek."

"Indeed," Sarek confirms.

Jim smiles at him before she slips past Spock with a, "See you tomorrow evening."

Prime Spock's dark eyes go warm and he inclines his head.

The sun hits Jim with unforgiving rays of heat that cause her forehead to immediately break out in a sweat. She licks her dry lips as she walks west to the edge of the camp. But midway there, she hears a bit of commotion, and when she goes to check it out she finds that a group of Vulcan preteens are chucking stones at a dark-skinned Vulcan female who is hunched in a ball on the ground.

"_Kroykah!_" Jim says, pulling from what little Vulcan she does know to get them to stop.

They do halt and turn around to face her with stoic expressions and furrowed brows.

"What are you doing?" Jim questions as she approaches them.

"It does not concern you, _tfi-kien,_" a boy wearing burnt sienna colored robes says. He must be the leader of the group.

"It does when you're behaving unreasonably," Jim retorts with a stern frown. She eyes the rest of the group. "Should I inform your parents of the situation? I do have time to spare after all."

The preteens look at each other, then they drop the stones in their hands before they disperse.

The boy glares coldly at Jim before he too leaves.

Jim sighs as she turns back to the girl on the ground. She crouches down and cocks her head. "It's okay. They're all gone now."

The girl lifts her head and there are green bruises and scuffs on her face where she's clearly been hit with a rock. She blinks but does not stir.

"How old are you?"

"I am thirteen summers starting today," she says.

Jim frowns, "Today is your birthday and you're being badgered by a group of punks? Well that's no good. What's your name?"

"I am called T'Khut, ma'am," she replies.

"My name is Jim, not ma'am," Jim softly corrects as she gives T'Khut a friendly smile. "May I ask why they were doing what they did?"

T'Khut gazes at Jim for a long moment before she says, "They find my parentage unacceptable. My father was a Romulan, and my mother was a Vulcan."

"Was, as in—they are no longer…" Jim trails off.

"Affirmative," T'Khut says. "They perished in the destruction of Vulcan. I was saved—they were not."

"I'm sorry," Jim says. "That can't be easy."

"I will adapt," T'Khut says as she gathers herself to her feet. "Excuse me, Jim. My grandmother will worry if I do not arrive at our marquee in the time she has designated."

"Sure," Jim says as she stands as well. "Would you like me to escort you?"

"Negative. You have been accommodating enough," T'Khut replies and inclines her head before she goes about her way without a fuss.

Jim watches as she disappears between the tents, feeling vaguely reminded of Spock. She turns away and pauses when she notices a medium-sized sketchbook lying on the ground. When she picks it up and opens it, she finds detailed drawings of a variety of things—plants, animals, people, constellations, and self-portraits that include T'Khut with her parents. Jim tucks it under her arm and makes a mental note to return it to T'Khut when she gets the chance. She finds Spock's tent easily enough.

Spock looks up at her entrance with a curious frown from his position on the floor beside a leveled table. His living quarters mirrors his father's and is generously large for just one person.

"I just ran into a group of Vulcan kids picking on someone," Jim reports as she sits on the other side of the table. "I'm not sure, but I think they were picking on her because her father was a Romulan—which wouldn't be farfetched since the downfall of Vulcan was caused by a Romulan. I didn't know there were Romulans on Vulcan."

"There are not, just one—his name was R'Imus," Spock vaguely explains. "If you are curious about the subject you will have to speak to the family, for it is not my place to speak on such matters."

"Yeah, alright," Jim sighs as she shows him T'Khut's sketchbook. "I have a feeling I might get to do that sooner rather than later. She dropped this. There are some really good drawings in here." She takes a moment to shake her head. "Poor girl—it's her birthday today."

"That is rather unfortunate," Spock agrees but he doesn't comment further. He slides a bowl of soup across the table to Jim. "I believe there will be a consumption site for humans once their camp is devised, but for the moment this is all that could be found."

"It's fine. Thank you," Jim says as she picks it up and cautiously takes a generous sip, happy to note that it is lukewarm. She finishes the whole thing in under seven minutes and sets the empty bowl on the table with a satisfied sigh. She notices that there is suntan lotion on the table beside a pen-shaped regenerator. She starts rubbing down her face, arms and legs with the lotion as Spock quietly works on whatever project he's working on with his PADD. In the midst of ridding herself of the last bruise on her leg, she pauses with a frown. "I forgot my shoes in your dad's tent," she mutters as she flexes her plum painted toes. "How did I not notice?"

"I am unsure," Spock answers in a distracted fashion. "Perhaps it is your contentment without them that inclines you to disregard them so easily. It is not uncommon."

Jim just snorts and lies back until she's facing the ceiling of the tent. She grabs the regenerator from off the table and begins to work on her arms. After she disposes of the last bruise, she rests the regenerator on her stomach before she laces her fingers behind her head.

She falls asleep embarrassingly fast.

When she dreams, she dreams that she is walking barefoot under a bright burning sun and over baking red sand. She doesn't leave footprints and there is nothing within sight on either side of her. It's just miles and miles of frozen waves of red sand.

Jim hears a caw and a shadow passes over her. When she looks up, there are ravens and vultures circling overhead. She stops and blinks sweat from her eyes as she pants. Her lungs feel tight and her throat feels bone dry. She swallows and yelps when she falls down into the darkness of a pit. She hits the base of it but she scrambles to her feet in fear, clawing at the walls in an attempt to climb out.

"Hello!" she yells as she looks up into the bright sky. "Please! Hello!"

A group of Vulcan preteens approach and form a circle around the mouth of the pit.

"Help me, please," Jim says as she swallows dryly.

They stare down at her with dark emotionless eyes and stoic expressions.

"Please!" Jim begs.

They lift their hands and begin to chuck enflamed rocks.

Jim cries out as she curls up into a ball in attempt to escape the batter of stones that sear her skin with pink scars.

They never cease, not even under her pleas. They keep chucking the enflamed stones down at her as they chant, "_Tfi-kien! Tfi-kien! Tfi-kien! Tfi-kien!"_

"_Whore!_"

"_Monster!"_

"_Beloved pet of Kodos!_"

Jim wakes with a wet gasp and springs upright as her heart sputters painfully before it picks up speed and knocks wildly against the walls of her ribcage. She trembles in the darkness of Spock's tent and notices that she is lying on his bed alone. She lifts shaky fingers to her wet cheeks before she scrubs her face dry and stumbles to her feet. She wraps her arms around herself as she quickly exits his tent, walking in an unknown destination. She looks up at the starry sky as she continues to tremble with a frown. When she's a good distance away from the camps, she flips open her communicator.

"Kirk to Enterprise. One to beam up."

"_Aye, Captain._"

Jim appears aboard her ship in a beam of light. She's surprised to see Bones standing beside the transporter station, waiting for her. Before she can ask, he marches up to her, wraps his hand around her forearm and yanks her right on down to sickbay. He tugs her into his office and shuts the door. He then bulldozes her into the seat on the other side of his desk before he sits down on the other side. He has this look on his face.

"What?" Jim sighs. "What is it this time? Just—out with it—I know it _has _to be something for you to put an end to this whole cold shoulder thing we've been giving each other."

The look stays.

Jim frowns, growing a little worried. "Bones? Seriously—what's the matter?" she asks. She crosses her ankles and ignores the urge to bolt. Usually by this time, he'd be twirling his tricorder all around her like some magical wand. Then glaring at her readings, and then at her if he found something wrong. For God sakes, she was in sickbay, _unarmed_ and _willing_ (well maybe not willing since Bones was the one who dragged her down here in the first place), but why wasn't he taking advantage of that?

Bones's face scrunches up with a mixture of confusion and apprehension. His lips tighten as he turns, marching to the far corner of the room where there is a rack of bottles of bourbon, and he grabs one, pulling it back over with him with two glasses. He slams the cups down and fills two fingers full in Jim's cup before he fills his cup to the rim.

Jim watches in surprise as he downs the whole cup in under a minute before he plops down in his chair and hides his face in the palms of his hands, and mutters for the next two minutes. His shoulders are shaking slightly. She doesn't say anything, but she watches him as she folds her hands over her lap with a deeper frown.

Bones slumps even more into himself, keeping his face hidden, but he speaks, "I'm gonna ask you somethin', Kid." He pauses briefly then goes on to say, "I'm gonna ask you somethin' _real _uncomfortable. And I know we had a whole argument about this not too long ago, but I need you to be straight with me."

Jim crosses her arms. "What?" she asks with confusion. "I thought I've been pretty open about a lot of things."

Bones sighs shakily and straightens. "No—not about this—you—" He seems to be fumbling with his words. "You never talked—never _mentioned_—I mean, _Christ_, Jim..."

Jim feels a small bit of agitation as she uses her fingers to comb her blonde bangs from her face. "Bones, will you just say what's bugging you? If you brought me down here to prove some kind of point—"

Bones looks at her sharply, his hazel eyes are rimmed with red, and it makes Jim inhale sharply.

"Bones—have you been crying?" she asks, trying to remember if his eyes had been that way since he marched onto the transporter pad and (quite insistently) dragged her out.

Bones grunts at the question and turns his head, looking at some unknown point on the other end of the room. He crosses his arms defensively. "A few years back, when I got into this medical game, there was a discussion about childhood trauma, and the extent of it." He glances at Jim briefly before looking away. "Did you know that the Federation allows people to alter their medical records and take things out they don't want known? Depending on where off-planet it might'a happened and how severe that childhood trauma was. They can twist and turn it anyway they like. It's sickening really, givin' people that kind of power, not that I don't understand it from their view, but it's important I think, in case some kind of condition or illness hits them. Maybe what they altered could have saved their lives when they needed it most."

Jim cocks her head but remains silent.

"The first time I looked at your medical records, it was—confusing," Bones says carefully. "It made me think of that discussion, and so I didn't pry, didn't want to. I figured you'd tell me when it mattered. Guess I was wrong to leave it alone, cause I got this inclination it matters now. And before you get defensive about what I have to say, you need to know that as your physician, I have every right to get to the bottom of any vague details in your medical record."

"I'm not the one acting defensive right now," Jim points out calmly, lacing her fingers together over her lap.

Bones scowls and meets her eye. "Oh I'm willin' to bet my whole stash of good bourbon that you'll be kickin' and screamin' by the time I get a real answer outta you," he says confidently.

Jim throws up her hands with a shrug. She doesn't know where the hell this is going. Talk about beating around the bush; Jim feels like Bones is beating around the whole damn amazon.

"It's crazy that you showed up on this ship when you did because I was just about to track you down," Bones admits. "I happened to overhear a conversation between some of the new crewmembers as I was doing some standard physicals a two days back. And I don't even know why I even entertained the rumor in the first place—but damn it, Jim, if it wasn't a coincidence."

"Please," Jim sighs, as patiently as she can at this point. "Please, just enlighten me, Bones. What exactly is your case?"

Bones drops his gaze and fiddles with his tricorder, which is weird for him because Leonard H. McCoy doesn't _fiddle_. "Jim," he slowly starts. "Why didn't you tell me about Tarsus?"

Jim pales and looks ready to bolt.

Bones is on his feet in a second. "Don't you even think on it! I'll sedate you if I have to. You're not leavin' this room," he barks. "You will _tell _me _why._"

Jim clamps her mouth shut defiantly and crosses her arms.

Bones continues to stand with his arms crossed and glares at her. "Do you know what it's like to put all those little missin' pieces of your medical history together, and come to _that _conclusion? And because of a rumor no less, a _goddamn rumor_."

Jim frowns in confusion. "Rumor? What rumor?"

Bones sits down and looks upset and wary. "These officers I mentioned before—they were talking about a string of murders that occurred within the last two years. There were no links between the murders until an anonymous tip pointed out the fact that they were all Tarsus survivors." He shifts in his seat. "They never said your name, Jim, but it was heavily implied because on of the officers knew of some story an old buddy back at the academy told him about Governor Kodos and his _adopted _daughter. She apparently looked just like you, and was the main reason he was put away for a long time. Or was supposed to be—he escaped some odd years later and no one knows where he is. Well, not exactly because this is where the rumor gets really strange. There's some officer named Riley that supposed knows where he is, but he's been written off as crazy."

Jim wants to swallow her own tongue. Her hands are shaking.

"Jim," Bones says. "I need to know. If these rumors are true, you could be in danger. Please. This is hard enough."

Jim lowers her gaze to her bare feet, shoulders tense and taunt with anger and fear. "Well I'm sure it must have been _real _hard on _you,_ Bones, to figure out how _fucked _my life really is," she mutters in response.

"Don't pander to me, Kid," Bones snaps. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Jim wraps her arms around herself and keeps her head bowed. "What was I supposed to say?"

"How about, '_Well, you may need to know that I was there, just in case I'm bleedin' all over the place and you can't seem to figure out why because I took some information out that could have been of use to fixin' me'_."

Jim scowls at her feet. "Yeah, Bones, cause that totally sounds like me," she replies sarcastically. "Let's just be real for a second. Who the fuck in their right mind would admit to—being apart of _that_?"

"Someone who's sensible enough to know that it might come back and bite them in the ass, especially when a fucking rumor circulates on their ship about the man responsible for that fucking horror story, and how he may still be _alive _and _free _and _plotting _your demise_," _Bones grouches. "And don't tell me you're not affected. Your hands have been shaking ever since I mentioned it. I've _noticed_."

Jim frowns. "God, you watch me like a hawk, and irritate the fuck out of me," she mutters.

Bones huffs. "Likewise."

Jim sags a little further with a sigh and rubs the back of her neck. "I didn't know how you'd react, Bones. No one likes hearing about that story, it's—I don't know. I don't know—I swore to myself a long time ago that I'd never talk about that part of my life. So don't take it personally." She lifts her head and finally meets his gaze. "What happened there—I just—I couldn't let you share that nightmare with me."

Bones glares. "That's not for you to decide. And I'm sure ole pointy-ears know all about it doesn't he?"

"Please don't start that, Bones. Not about this," Jim contends. "You've already been crying about it—something I didn't want to happen—but now you know. No point in learning the gory details."

"I want to help, Jim. You can't deal with this alone, you've done it for far too long as is," Bones says.

Jim gives a one-shouldered shrug and studies her nails. "I actually don't think about it."

"Bullshit."

She shrugs again.

"Talk to me," Bones insists.

Another shrug.

Bones sighs and sits back in his chair. "If you wont talk to me as your doctor, at least do it for me as your friend."

Jim looks at him sharply before she looks away. "You haven't been too interested in being my friend lately. What would be the point now?"

"Because I'll tell you about my father if you tell me about Tarsus," Bones says and waits patiently.

Jim fidgets and studies the tiny loose thread in her gold uniform dress.

"I've got all night to wait, and I will," Bones warns.

Jim feels her mouth sag unhappily and she takes a chance at glancing around. "I don't think—"

Bones interjects, "Already took care of it. Just me and you, Kid. I made sure of that."

Jim glares. "You can't do that. What if there's an emergency?"

Bones lifts an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I can. Last I heard, I was CMO. And as CMO I'm seein' to somethin' that I find more important than any medical emergency—and it just so happens to be the health of this ship's Captain. And if need be, I told my staff they'd just do house calls if assistance was required," he explains, not looking the least bit sorry for it.

Jim is quieted by his confession.

Bones stands and moves around his desk until he's sitting down in the chair beside hers. He leans forward and reaches out to grab her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "I'm right here, Jim. I'm right here and I'll be damned if I go anywhere else—not when my best friend needs me."

Jim looks away, unable to take how deep those words cut into her jaded heart and she allows herself one small wry smile. "I hate you," she whispers, no bite in her words at all. "I—so much, Bones."

"Pull the other, Kid, cause I'm not buyin'," Bones rumbles, squeezing her hand gently once more.

Jim closes her eyes. She can hear it in his voice. He's determined to know. "I don't know where to start," she mutters.

"Anywhere'll do."

Jim chuckles bitterly and shakes her head. She exhales slowly and quietly as her eyes open and meets his. "I hope you have a bucket near."

Bones frowns. His hazel eyes are riddled with disapproval. "Jim—"

"No I mean it, Bones," Jim says, shaking her head sternly. "What I have to say—even you couldn't stomach it."

"Try me."

Jim eyes him, but Bones's face is set. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze back and exhales, ignoring the torrent twitching of her heart, which protested this confession heavily. "I was thirteen, Bones," she starts quietly. "Thirteen and unprepared." She stops for a moment and gazes towards his desk. She smiles sadly. "My dad had this cherry red corvette, and—well, it was the only thing left that I had of him. But even Winona's bastard brother seemed determined to take that from me. So I did what I do best." She shifts her gaze and meet's Bones's curious hazel eyes. "I fucked him over." She smirks bitterly. "I fucked him over so bad that he didn't think twice about taking me to Tarsus and leaving me there." She pauses again and shakes her head. "It happens like this—"

And she begins, putting an abrupt end to the vow she'd made years ago. A vow to never speak of what had really happened on Tarsus IV. And Bones quietly listens, even when he pales through most of the gory details—he just stays there, right beside her and squeezes her hand in comfort. She ends the tale on a shaky breath and accepts the tissues he hands to her so she can dry her pinkly wet cheeks. Her eyes feel swollen and her voice hoarse—it had been hard to talk without sobbing her guts out in the process.

"I'm sorry," Bones says as he wraps her in a comforting hug. "I appreciate you tellin' me."

Jim sniffs and nods silently into his shoulder.

"I want to tell you about my dad," Bones says gruffly as they pull away from each other. "I never wanted to tell you before because I didn't want you to think any lesser of me. I've always blamed myself for the way things happened."

Jim holds his hand this time and gives it a comforting squeeze.

Bones swallows and continues in a hoarse voice, "He contracted pyrrhoneuritis, a rare disease imported from colony worlds, right after I earned my M.D. on my twenty-first birthday. He was sixty at the time, but even before he got it he was still a quick and spry sonuvabitch." He pauses to chuckle fondly. "Used to drive my momma crazy. He couldn't be still. He always had to bounce around, saving lives, no matter the planet or the species. Momma just wanted him to retire already so they could kick their feet up in the Bahamas. But he just couldn't. He couldn't consider retirement." His eyes start to water over. "He rushed home to see me graduate, and I think even after I saw him I knew something was wrong. It wasn't until three months after he'd contracted the disease that we all knew things would take a turn for the worse. It wrecked my momma, more than anyone else I think. My dad had lost about a third of his body weight, was crippled, bedridden, and wracked with pain.

"Meanwhile I'm spending hours and hours at the local clinic tryin' to figure out a way to cure the damn disease. But I keep comin' up short and I'm loosin' sleep over it. I can barely eat or function without going over all the details a million times in hopes that there is somethin' I overlooked. But I couldn't find a thing all those three months he lay in pain. Finally, the agony became so unbearable, even with high doses of painkillers, he decided he couldn't take it anymore. He dragged this old rickety chair off the porch with what little strength he had and got some rope, went to the closest tree in the back and tied himself a knot. I—I was the one that found him. He was just swingin'—back and forth. Back and forth. And it was my fault. I couldn't save him. It tore me up, especially when some young hotshot halfway across the world figured out a cure just a mere two weeks after he first learned of it. I hated myself—hell I still kinda do."

"Bones," Jim says as she pulls him close. "Don't. Please. You're such a wonderful person I can't even begin to explain. Don't blame yourself. You did everything that you could."

Bones chuckles wetly and grabs a few tissues for himself. "I guess we both got some pretty sore issues in our past."

"Yeah," Jim agrees with a sigh. "Two peas in a fucked up pod."

Bones snorts wryly.

"I don't know about you, but I can really go for some ice cream," Jim announces cheerfully. She laces her fingers with his and pulls him to his feet. "Let's go down to the kitchens and gorge ourselves until we throw up."

"Sounds like a plan."

Jim smiles and pulls him along, ignoring the part of her that wants to tell him about her dream. She didn't want to worry him any further.

After they steal a few tubs of ice cream from the kitchens, they haul it back to Bones's quarters. They spread themselves out over his couch and work on emptying the cartons. They talk aimlessly and just enjoy each other's company.

With sticky fingers, and swelled stomachs, they lay in a tangled heep on his bed sometime in the middle of the night, enjoying the steady streams of silence that laces between them.

"Bones?"

"Hm?"

"I missed you."

"You too," Bones sighs into her hair. She can feel him falling asleep as she traces her fingers over his heart.

"Can we promise to never fight like that again?"

"Sure—don't know how well it'll hold though."

Jim snorts quietly and smiles to herself. "Hey, Bones, what was that name you said before? The one officer who knew where Kodos is?"

"Riley. Why? Jim—don't go—"

"Relax. I just wanted to know, I'm not going to do anything," Jim lies.

Bones just sniffs and huddles in closer to her as his breathing evens out.

Jim waits a good hour before she carefully detangles herself from his arms and legs. She tiptoes to his work desk and quietly rifles through his drawers for his PADD.

When she finds it, she enters a ghosting code before she hacks into the Federation's databanks. She extracts a few files and documents in relation to Tarsus and the lists of survivors. She takes her time reading into each person's file and reads up on them. She comes to a disturbing conclusion—the rumor that Bones heard had some truth to it.

Kodos is MIA and has been for the past two years but believed, somehow, to be deceased.

And the most disturbing of all—thirteen of the fifty survivors are dead.

She finds no sleep that night.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_Need comments. Worked hard on this one._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Two**

So that thing about her not falling asleep? Total lie. She actually does find sleep. She didn't mean to fall asleep, mind you. It just happens, as it usually does, when she is under a lot of stress and anxiety. So it's only a slight surprise when she wakes up lying facedown on top of Bones's desk. She sits up with a sniff and stretches all the kinks out of her body with a groan.

Bones takes that moment to exit his bathroom as a cloud of steam billows behind him. He's dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel. "Mornin'," he greets as he uses another towel to dry his hair.

Jim just hums as she eyes him. "Bones—are you trying to seduce me, because it's working."

"No, I'm not," Bones replies simply. "I'm actually upset with you—but then again I really shouldn't be surprised. You went and stuck your nose in the whole Kodos mess didn't you? I saw what you were doin' on my PADD."

Jim flushes and straightens as she crosses her arms defensively. "I was just looking. That doesn't mean anything."

"It does when it's you," he retorts and tosses his wet towel at her.

Jim snatches it out of the air before it reaches her face with a frown. "So you just let me sleep on your desk? My neck is killing me now."

"Sure did. I hope you learnt somethin'."

"Yeah. Don't sleep on your desk."

Bones doesn't acknowledge her reply. Instead he plucks free some casual clothes and tosses them on the bed as he says, "You should head back to yours and get ready for the day. It's almost eleven, you know. We can meet each other in the Mess for breakfast."

"Not interested. I'm not hungry."

"You still need to eat," Bones insists as he throws her a look over his wet shoulder.

"Yeah, got it, Doctor McCoy. But I can't eat when my stomach's upset so bare with me," Jim says as she stands. "Besides, I need to pack anyway."

"You're staying on the grounds?"

Jim nods as she exits out of all the applications on Bones's PADD and clears the browser history just in case her CMO gets a little more curious about her activities.

"Guess this means I have to pack too," Bones grumbles.

"Why? Just because I am?"

"I will if you are. Besides, I wouldn't mind getting off this ship and getting some dirt under my toes."

Jim snorts and looks at him fondly when he can't see. "I guess I'll meet you down there," she says as she makes her way for his door.

"You just make sure you cover yourself in lotion before you go anywhere," Bones nags after her.

"Yeah, yeah," Jim mutters as the door swishes shut behind her.

She treks all the way down to her quarters and goes straight to her bathroom to hop in the sonic shower. When she gets out she rubs herself down with suntan lotion, then gets dressed in pair of navy blue overall shorts with a short white t-shirt that stops two inches above her navel, and puts her hair in a low, side ponytail, fishtailing the end. For precaution's sake, she straps a holster around her waist with her phaser, tricorder and communicator. She packs her hot pink duffel bag and leaves everything else. With bare feet, she makes her way to the Transporter Room and beams down to the surface of New Vulcan.

It's particularly hot and Jim is silently glad over her clothing choice.

As she treks over to the camps, she notices that parallel to the Vulcan camp, there is another camp that is smaller than its predecessor and Jim guesses this must be the human camp. When she makes it there, the quartermaster, who greets her warmly and shows her the blueprints of the camp on her PADD, meets her with a full report. There is a medical tent on the west and east flank of the camp for precautions sake, and the food tent is in the heart of the camp for easy access by all. By the end of it all, the quartermaster points Jim to her tent, which is near the far back of the camp, and with a thanks, Jim also asks her to inform her CMO about her whereabouts if he comes asking.

Jim's marquee is only half the size of Sarek's and Spock's. Not that she's complaining or anything. But there is a lot left to be desired. All she has is a queen-sized floor bed that already takes up what little space she has, and a small coffee table with stools and a work desk that is opposite to her bed on the other end of the tent. But again, it wasn't a big deal since she most likely wouldn't be spending much of anytime in here anyway. She tosses her duffel bag onto her bed as her communicator chirps in her back pocket.

"_McCoy to Kirk._"

Jim flips it open and says, "Kirk here. Go ahead."

"_Change of plans. I've got some sort of situation that I need to sort out at one of the med tents. We'll have to meet up later tonight._"

"That's fine. Just go do what I hired you to do," Jim replies with a little smile.

"_Funny. McCoy out._"

Jim snorts and snaps her communicator shut as she rubs it thoughtfully against her chin. With a sigh, she exits her tent and heads for Spock's. When she makes it to the Vulcan camp, she ignores all the curious and disapproving stares with little apprehension until she reaches Spock's tent. Thankfully, he is absent when she arrives, and she moves quickly to retrieve T'Khut's sketchbook and pockets the lotion. Without further delay, she leaves and goes in search for T'Khut's tent. Of course, by doing this, she has to ask around.

Yeah…that doesn't go well at all.

Some Vulcans just either glare coldly at her before moving on without the decency of a reply or stare at her wordlessly until she feels uncomfortable enough to bow out.

Jim is on the verge of giving up when a beautiful older woman, who doesn't look a day over fifty, approaches her. This woman is wearing dark purple robes with deep sleeves she hides her hands in, and she has eyes that are darker than unspoiled coffee. She is tall—taller than most of the Vulcan women Jim's seen by far, and even the men. Her grey hair is braided into two parts, and clipped off at the back where the rest of her hair falls into a long waterfall of curls that sway at her waist. She is a very stunning older woman.

"You are a singularly troublesome human," she comments as she looks down at Jim with apt disapproval. Her dark eyes are vaguely familiar. "Did your human mother teach you such appalling manners, or is your father to blame?"

Jim's jaw falls open and her body starts to quake with indignant anger.

"Calm yourself, girl—I meant nothing by it," she scoffs. "I wanted to demonstrate the way in which you were presenting yourself. My rudeness to you is equal to the same approach you displayed when tactlessly petitioning the location for the Lady T'Prisu's dwelling."

Jim closes her mouth and flushes in guilt.

"Judging by the color of your cheeks, I suspect that my explanation has pierced your thick skull," she quips tonelessly. "Now, if you have finished unsettling my people, I will answer your inquiry if you explain to me why you seek it."

"I—I have her granddaughter's notebook. I was only trying to return it," Jim responds and holds up the sketchbook for the intimidating Vulcan to see.

"I see," she murmurs. "Very well. It is fortunate for you that I was on my way to see the Lady T'Prisu on a certain manner. You may join me in my walk."

"Thank you," Jim says and follows the older woman. "My name is Jim, by the way."

"I know who you are, girl. As does the rest of the camp's inhabitants. Your golden hair and blue eyes is signifying enough," she brusquely retorts. "I am called Lady T'Pau."

"Lady T'Pau," Jim echoes as she puts T'Khut's sketchbook under her right arm. "I didn't realize I was being rude."

"This is obvious," Lady T'Pau says. "You are not of our world. You do not know of our customs. You are bound to fail in the aspects of social etiquette." She glances at Jim briefly. "It is unbecoming for a woman to petition her counterparts about another dwellings, being of no kin and no friend to them. If you had need of this information, you should have first greeted an individual politely, gave them your title, asked for theirs and inquired their health and the health of their clan. After which would be an appropriate time to request the whereabouts of the individual you seek."

"Oh," Jim says and flushes again as she thinks about the display she must have been putting on earlier. "I am extremely embarrassed for my behavior."

"Indeed," Lady T'Pau agrees, and it's hardly noticeable, but Jim can sense a bit of amusement in her voice. "I suspect you will not duplicate such a blunder. If you truly are ignorant to our ways, you may consult me beforehand. This way, you may avoid certain mistakes."

Jim blinks in surprise at the offer. "Wow. Thank you—you sure I wouldn't just be bothering you?"

Lady T'Pau stops before a tent and gazes at her coolly. "Vulcans are not familiar to this term '_bother_'. There is no '_bother_' in our vernacular," she corrects. "You are being exceptionally rude once more. I have extended an offer and you have yet to accept or decline."

"Sorry, sorry," Jim says hastily. "I accept. Of course I accept."

"Why are there no shoes on your feet?"

"I—forgot them."

"That is cause for concern. To forget such a simple thing," T'Pau murmurs unhappily. Raising the volume of her voice slightly, she adds, "You need not wonder why you were being given such speculative looks."

Jim flushes again and rubs the back of her neck sheepishly.

Lady T'Pau says nothing further and turns to enter the tent as Jim follows. She lifts her hand in a customary Vulcan greeting to a frail, dark-skinned older woman sitting on the floor beside a level table with a fruit basket and tea dishes.

T'Khut is pressed in close to her grandmother, her small hands are over her grandmother's wrinkled and shaking hands as she helps her grandmother drink the cup of tea.

Lady T'Prisu inclines her head weakly at Lady T'Pau before she eyes Jim curiously.

"James," Lady T'Pau says as she lowers her hand and looks at Jim sternly. "Greet your host, you uncouth child."

"Oh, sorry. Hello, Lady T'Prisu," Jim fumbles and does an awkward bow that makes T'Khut lips twitch as her dark eyes fill with laughter. "My name is Jim."

"I am aware of your identity, child," Lady T'Prisu remarks as her granddaughter helps her lower her cup to the table again. "My granddaughter consistently spoke high praises of you. In fact, had you arrived sooner, you would have bared witness to it."

"Grandmother," T'Khut hisses as her cheeks and the tips of her ears flush with a purple shade, deepening the color of her brown skin even further.

"Oh hush, girl," Lady T'Prisu gently chastises. "It is not my intention to cause you shame over your poetic waxing."

The flush on T'Khut's skin darkens.

Jim smiles softly.

"Come now, T'Pau. You and your young ward must join me," Lady T'Prisu suggests as she turns toward her table.

Lady T'Pau settles herself across from Lady T'Prisu as she makes a motion for Jim to sit in the empty space beside her.

Jim does and hands T'Khut her sketchbook with a friendly smile. "There are some really lovely drawings in there. I was really impressed," she remarks.

"Thank you," T'Khut murmurs as another flush creeps back onto her cheeks.

"James," Lady T'Pau reprimands. "You have not asked Lady T'Prisu if you may address her granddaughter so formally."

"Sorry," Jim says with a wince.

"It is quite alright. I will forgive you this mistake," Lady T'Prisu merely replies, and despite her vacant expression, there is definitely amusement in her dark eyes. "My, T'Pau. Such _regard_ you seem to have for this girl already. I may almost claim that you have given life to this child yourself. You are always such a mother." She nods at her granddaughter and T'Khut stands on her knees as she carefully picks up the teakettle in the middle of the table. She pours a cup for Lady T'Pau first, then Jim.

"Do not jest me, Lady T'Prisu," Lady T'Pau coolly retorts as she lifts the porcelain cup, holding onto the handle with her right hand while her left hand rests on the bottom, fingers pressed together tightly and pointing outwards. "You mistake my interest in this girl for affection."

"Is it not?" Lady T'Prisu counters. "The rumor floating throughout the camp is that she is your espoused granddaughter."

Lady T'Pau tenses as Jim's eyes widen in surprise. "Vulcans do not gossip."

"Lie if you must, T'Pau, but you and I both know that nothing could be farther from the truth," Lady T'Prisu simply says. She looks at Jim. "And don't look so surprised. She is Sarek's mother, and Spock's grandmother. And by your connection to the little Lord, yours as well."

Jim is overtaken by an aggressive flush. "Does everyone know about us?"

"I would not go as far to say that everyone is aware, but more than likely those kin to T'Pau's house and acquaintances of her clan may have an inkling," Lady T'Prisu acknowledges. "T'Pau has given me the liberty of confirming the rumor in person, this is how I know."

"You are troublesome," Lady T'Pau remarks with a glare.

"And yet it is your choice to associate with me," Lady T'Prisu counters. "I have known you since you were in your mother's womb. You are fond of me."

Lady T'Pau does not deny it, but she does not confirm it either. Instead, she flicks her dark gaze over to Jim and says, "Do not be rude, James—though you seem to delight in it. Drink your tea."

Jim hesitates. "Um—I—no thanks. I don't want it."

"It is customary to drink the first cup given to you by your host," Lady T'Prisu clarifies lightly as Lady T'Pau looks at Jim strictly. "Drink what has been given to you and then you may deny my gratuity."

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be disrespectful, but I—I really don't like tea," Jim explains vaguely.

"James," Lady T'Prisu says. "I must insist."

Jim purses her lips unhappily before she looks down at the mouth of her cup. Steam is rising from the depths of her tea, preluding to the fact that it is still hot, and Jim has to work hard to conceal her cringe. She reaches out with trembling hands and cups them around her mug. She swallows dryly as she lifts the cup with painstaking slowness as her hands shake all the more.

Lady T'Pau furrows her brow as she watches wordlessly before she lowers her own cup to the table and rests her left hand over the rim of Jim's cup to gently press it back down to the table. "Let the liability fall to me—she will share in my honor. I shall drink her cup so that it will not be wasted," she decides in a stoic tone.

"Very well. From your lips to my ears," Lady T'Prisu accepts with a curious gleam in her eyes. She flicks her gaze to Jim. "I do believe that T'Pau has just claimed you as hers. You are kin to her now. It is fitting to show gratitude in such situations."

Jim looks at Lady T'Pau in surprise but the elegant Vulcan is wordlessly finishing her cup of tea before she exchanges it for Jim's untouched tea. "I—thank you, Lady T'Pau," she says bewilderedly.

"Thanks are unnecessary," Lady T'Pau offhandedly replies as she continues to take graceful sips. "You will address me as T'Pau from this point forward."

Jim nods.

"Partake of Lady T'Prisu fruit. Unless you have an aversion to that as well," Lady T'Pau goes on to say as she lowers her half-full cup. "There have been talks. I have come to discuss the matter with you. The things I have heard are disconcerting."

"You refer to the gossip among the camps that there are those who have returned to the old ways," Lady T'Prisu surmises. "It is not uncommon for such talk or behavior in the wake of our ancestry planet's destruction."

"Indeed, but no less problematic. Logic will soon fail us if we return back to the old religions. Things are already unraveling—note the behavior of the young," Lady T'Pau says as she drinks Jim's untouched tea. As Jim finishes her banana, Lady T'Pau focuses her attention on T'Khut, who has been quietly sketching Jim from her side of the table. "The contusions you display are evidently not self-inflicted. I can only surmise that the cause is from petty quarreling."

T'Khut pauses in her drawing and does not lift her eyes from the medium-sized pad.

"You will answer her, T'Khut," Lady T'Prisu reprimands.

T'Khut straightens and she lifts her eyes to address Lady T'Pau. "Pardon me, Lady T'Pau. I—some of the other adolescents have been inconveniencing me," she admits.

"I see," Lady T'Pau merely says, but her lips tighten in disapproval. "There was a time when my own grandson experienced such unlettered behavior from those attempting to solicit an emotion from him, based on the imprudent preconceived notions they held about his paternity. Do not let it impede on your contentment. It will pass. I will have words with some of the elders."

"You have my gratitude, T'Pau," Lady T'Prisu says. "I have grown feeble in my old age, and I cannot move as freely as I once did in my youth. Your involvement is a comfort."

"Think nothing of it, Lady T'Prisu. I seek only to do what you would do in a similar situation if you were able," Lady T'Pau simply remarks. "Now, we have inconvenienced you enough. James and I will take our leave with a promise to return in the near future."

"Then I shall stave off death a little while longer in anticipation," Lady T'Prisu remarks with dry wit.

"Do not jest, old woman. Your passing is something I can hardly conceive," Lady T'Pau rebukes.

"Lady T'Pau is right, grandmother," T'Khut agrees with an unhappy frown. "You—are the only grand pleasure I have left in this life."

"Hush," Lady T'Prisu gently scolds as she strokes her frail fingers along the outer outline of T'Khut's ear with unconcealed affection. "In my age, I have little else to think on. But I will make no more comments on it, if it pleases you."

T'Khut's dark eyes go warm with a smile and she briefly touches her fingers to her grandmother's wrist in a quick Vulcan kiss.

Jim bites down on her bottom lip to keep from smiling at the rare and adorable display she feels lucky enough to witness.

"Let us leave," Lady T'Pau murmurs quietly to Jim as she tucks her hands into the deep sleeves of her dark purple robes and exits the tent.

Jim wordlessly follows the elder Vulcan out into the unforgiving sun, where she breaks out into a sweat once more. As they walk towards the southeast of the camp, she asks, "Lady T'Pau—can you please tell me where I can find Prime Spock's marquee? I have a prior engagement with him."

Lady T'Pau looks down at her neutrally before she replies, "I have requested that you address me by T'Pau. Please honor my demand." She waits for Jim's consenting nod before she continues, "As for his marquee, it can be found just thirty-six paces from here on your right." She then goes on to say, "Furthermore, to avoid confusion, we address him as Selek. You may address him however you wish in private, but in the company of others, I urge you to refer to him by this name."

"Understood," Jim agrees. "Thank you."

Lady T'Pau makes a thoughtful sound before she crowds in close enough that Jim has to crane her neck in strain to see her. The elegant Vulcan studies her unabashedly as she remarks, "You have significant appeal. It is easy to understand why both versions of my grandsons would be besotted by you."

Jim flushes violently.

"The older speaks of your praises, while the younger complains," Lady T'Pau notes thoughtfully as she takes in the bright flush spreading across Jim's face. "Yet, the fondness and respect they hold for you is clear. I am to understand that you are difficult and stubborn, but nobly brave and exceedingly intelligent nonetheless." She finally steps back and gives Jim breathing room. "Perhaps you will be good for our clan as Amanda once was. Though I will have to instruct you in the ways of proper etiquette if I am to allow you to escort me to various residences. Good day, James." And with that she disappears from sight.

Jim stares after her in befuddlement for two long minutes before she forcibly shakes herself out of it. She finds Prime Spock's tent with little difficulty. When she enters, she finds him sitting on a mat, eyes closed in concentration and hands clasped in his lap. She pauses and contemplates turning around so she can walk out and give him the privacy he needs.

"Do not fret, Jim," Prime Spock says without opening his eyes. "I am on the verge of completion. I need only a few more moments of silence to stabilize my shields. You may wait if it is your wish to do so."

Jim nods, even though she knows he can't see, and she walks to his level table, plopping down on the ground on the other side of it so she can face Prime Spock and watch him. She props her elbow on the edge of the table and drops her chin in her hand while she quietly waits for him to finish meditating. It doesn't escape her notice that her black hiking boots are under his table. She plucks free the pair of socks inside and unfolds them as she quietly puts them on, and then her hiking boots. It takes a little more time after that for her to properly lace them up.

True to his words, he unfolds his legs and opens his eyes a few moments later. His dark eyes immediately falls on her.

Jim's mouth spreads into a smile before she can help it.

Prime Spock's dark eyes go soft and warmed with a returning smile as his lips twitch. "You are early," he notes as he stands and turns away.

"I know, but—I didn't think you'd mind anyway. I was with T'Pau earlier and Lady T'Prisu. I returned her granddaughter's sketchbook. Her name is T'Khut. Maybe you know them?"

"Affirmative. They are longstanding acquaintances to our clan," Prime Spock confirms as he turns and treks back to the table, revealing a sizeable bag of Ghirardelli chocolate.

Jim perks up with an eager grin. "Is this for me?"

"Indeed," Prime Spock says as he opens the mouth and carefully slides it across the table. "But you may not take it with you. It is my intention to keep them as bait and use it to lure you here when it is convenient."

"Oh you beautiful, sneaky Vulcan—knowing my weaknesses like that," Jim purrs as she looks at him from under her blonde lashes while she pops a chocolate in her mouth. "And you know I'll come too. But I'd still come regardless."

"Call it supplementary provocation," Prime Spock rejoinders with amused eyes. "You mentioned running into T'Pau."

"Well," Jim says around a mouthful of chocolate. "I didn't run into her _per say_. More like she saw me behaving like an oblivious fanatic. She kindly corrected my pitiful social behavior and took me under her wing. We went and had a nice chat with T'Khut and her grandmother. And long story short, I now have the approval of the elder woman of your family."

"So it would seem," Prime Spock remarks, and again, Jim has a feeling she is being silently laughed at. "I have the impression you do not realize what T'Pau's status is among our people. In the days of old, she would have bore the mark of priestess. There is no equal term for the title by human standards, but it exceedingly noteworthy to us." He watches as she consumes another chocolate with a mystified expression. "She possesses a rather harsh temperament. To outside company, T'Pau can be rather callous and unforgiving of even the smallest blunder. The fact that she took to you so quickly is yet more proof you have a superlative charm that can penetrate even the hardest of hearts."

Jim flushes and tosses a chocolate at him. "Stop—you're making me blush. I'm not that great, you know. One of a kind, sure. But I'm not all grand."

"I strongly disagree, Jim," Prime Spock gently argues. "If I could compare your worth to the stars, it would be as they are—infinite in number and awe-inspiring."

Jim's flush deepens and she has to quickly swallow down the piece of chocolate that hits her tongue, lest she die from suffocation. "You are nuts if you think that," she mumbles timidly as she tries to hide her red face behind the bag of chocolate. She feels hot fingers cover her own and gently lower the bag from her face as she says, "Stop waxing poetic about me."

"Never," Prime Spock vows and unfolds her right hand from the bag so he can press her small knuckles to his warm lips.

Jim shudders as he whispers another small praise over her skin. She is about two seconds from climbing over the table and into his lap. The gleam in his dark eyes suggests that he is aware she might, and he makes no move to stop her.

But of course, that is the exact moment Spock enters the tent. He freezes at the sight of them and he goes a bit green about the tips of his ears.

Jim snatches her hand back and shifts guiltily as though she's been caught digging her fingers in the cookie jar.

"Pardon me. I see that I have intruded on a rather intimate moment. I came only to inform you and my older counterpart that I will be unable to join the session at the time we specified. I have a—prior engagement that will call me away for an undetermined length of time," Spock states stiffly before he spins on his heel and exits the tent.

Jim closes her eyes and sighs. "I should probably go and—" She makes a vague gesture with her hand before opens her eyes and stand. "Hold that thought."

"There is no rush," Prime Spock assures. "It was not my intention to create strife between the two of you."

"Trust me, there was strife long before you came in the picture. I'll talk to him," Jim says. "And if I'm not back for a while, well—the conversation may not have went as pleasantly as I hope it will. But I will be back eventually."

Prime Spock inclines his head wordlessly.

Jim smiles before she exits his tent in search for his younger counterpart. She finds him on the north side of the camps with Rand, and two male Vulcans that are at least a fraction older than Spock. They are dressed in twin metal grey excursion uniforms that must be standard for Vulcan officers, and they have deep-conceal holster vests outfitted to their chests.

Spock is outfitted in his science uniform with a holster around his waist with his phaser, tricorder and communicator. He also has a coffee colored nylon messenger bag looped over his chest.

Rand is outfitted in the standard Starfleet excursion uniform with a black knapsack strapped to his chest and a hoop of rope over his left shoulder.

"What's going on?" Jim asks.

"We are preparing for the expedition, Captain," Rand answers. "Commander Spock is spearheading the excursion."

"Commander Spock?" Jim addresses him in a tight voice and lifts her eyebrows expectantly. "What's going on and why wasn't I told?"

"It was my intention to do so. You were otherwise preoccupied," Spock merely replies as he gives her a vacant look. He clasps his hands behind him as he goes on to say, "It is our objective to pursue the water source located by the scourers commissioned by the Vulcan Council. They have requested me to sanction this location and analyze it further. With methodical adjudication, I will then elect the best possible route of action in terms of outlining the most effectual way of unearthing and deflecting the water source for accessibility."

"Understood—though it would have been nice if they had informed me about their plans for my First Officer," Jim says calmly, even in the wake of an unfurling spell of irritation searing lines into her chest. And though it's hard to admit, she is slightly worried. Call it a gut feeling, but she does not like this.

Spock says nothing, but he doesn't look as if he disagrees.

Jim looks at the two Vulcan officers. "What are your names?"

The tallest one says, "I am called Sefor."

The second one says, "I am called Kovar."

Jim nods and turns her gaze to Rand. "What are you doing here?"

"Curiosity?" Rand offers, and at the flat look Jim gives him, he clarifies, "It really is mutual interest. Plus I'm a bit of an expert on cartography. I overheard the conversation about the expedition and I offered my services to Commander Spock. He accepted."

Jim finds it strange, but not farfetched. "Okay then. But next time I'd like to be consulted about your volunteering. If something happened and I wasn't made aware of your acquaintance to the situation—it would be very compromising for not only you, but me as well. I need to know these things," she says and doesn't hesitate to throw Spock a pointed look. "Regardless of whether or not it was sanctioned by Starfleet or if I'm available to learn of the situation."

"Of course, Captain," Rand says with a sheepish grin.

"Good," Jim says, turning her gaze back to him. "How long will this expedition take?"

"No more than four days at least," Rand answers. "The walk to the North Mountains takes only a few hours. It's the climb up, and navigating inside the mountain's labyrinths that takes the effort I'm told."

Jim looks to Sefor and Kovar and asks, "Is this true?"

"Affirmative, Captain Kirk," Sefor stoically replies.

"And you didn't find anything else? Outside of the water source, I mean."

"Negative," Kovar says. "There was nothing of note."

"But it's not impossible," Jim supposes. "That there could be something else down there."

Sefor and Kovar do not reply, but they do not look at Jim unkindly. They glance away from her and to each other before they aim their gaze forward again.

It's odd.

"All that water and nothing," Jim contemplates aloud. It doesn't seem right. She adds, "I'm coming. I'd like to see for myself as well."

Spock stiffens.

"We do not require your assistance," Sefor states.

"We have need of only your First Officer," Kovar adds.

"No, I get that," Jim replies, and ignores the part of her that is in a fret over the thought that something could happen to Rand and Spock if she is not there to be sure over their safety. She is responsible for them after all. "But I won't be in the way. Call it curiosity, but I think I'm going to tag along."

Spock protests, "Captain, that would be unwise. The risk could be—"

"Just the same if I let the four of you go," Jim coolly interjects. "What's one more person? Besides, I'm not completely helpless. I've taken a few excursion courses. My knowledge is basic but I'm a fast learner."

"I must object, Captain," Spock insists. "You are not suitably equipped."

"I hear what you're saying, but no. I'm going," Jim maintains, because her gut is telling her to. "I understand the caution, but I'll be fine as long as I'm careful. And I know I don't have much of anything but I've survived on less before."

"Captain, I must insist that you remain here."

Jim stares at him and says, "Is that an order, _Commander_?"

"It is a strong suggestion," Spock returns, leveling her stare with his own.

"Noted. But I'm coming." Jim says with a tone that lets them all know she won't change her mind. "Now, we're wasting daylight by squabbling. We might as well get moving." She looks to Sefor and Kovar. "Please lead the way."

Sefor and Kovar flick their gazes to Spock, then away, before they turn and start a trek towards the North Mountain.

Rand turns on his PADD and begins tracing shapes into it with his stylus pen as he follows the two Vulcan officers.

Jim waits a moment or two before she follows as well. She waits for Spock to match her pace before she says, "We need to talk about earlier."

"Earlier, Captain?"

"The little moment you walked in between older you and I. That," Jim clarifies.

"It is of no importance," Spock decides. He waits a moment longer before he adds, "Though I can fathom how the link between us became so effortlessly formed."

"What does that mean?" Jim scoffs, hackles rising as she glares at him. "Because I have to say that I don't like what you're hinting at about me."

"I am merely proposing that you are simply more prone to his lure when in privacy," Spock clarifies, and the disapproval in his tone is obvious.

Jim snorts bitterly. "Yeah, because I'm such a young and untried woman who falls flat on her back at the slightest bit of flattery," she drawls sarcastically.

"I do not think that of you," Spock brusquely states. "Despite your blatant goading and antagonizing—my view of you remains deferential."

That quiets Jim right up. She purses her lips and crosses her arms. "I'm not sorry," she mutters stubbornly.

"I have not asked you to be," Spock counters evenly.

"Well good," Jim scoffs. "Because I'm not. And I think you suck."

"Acknowledged," Spock tersely replies.

Jim purses her lips again as their trek to the North Mountains becomes a sullenly silent one. "Will you just say something about me?" she finally snaps.

Spock's brow furrows. "I have said all that I intended to on the matter."

"No—that's not how you argue. You don't just let me say what I want and you accept it. You have to say the things about me that you don't like," Jim fusses. "Arguing with you is just like yelling at a helpless puppy, I swear."

"I would prefer if you did not swear in regards to that statement," Spock says with an unhappy frown.

"And?" Jim presses.

"And I find you exceptionally rude."

"And?"

"Childish."

"And?"

"Vexing."

Jim feels her lips twitch helplessly and she tries to stall the amused grin eating at her mouth. "_And_?"

"I would not be averse to the thought of outranking you in order for you to listen and consider my advice more carefully. Were I captain, you would have stayed put at the camps and I would not have to worry about your wellbeing," Spock admits carefully.

"Yeah, well, I don't like the thought of something happening to you while I'm not near to stop it from happening," Jim confesses. "You frustrate me, but I would never see you harmed. Like I said. You're a puppy to me. My pointy-eared puppy."

"I dislike that analogy," Spock reproves. "Furthermore, you are not suitably dressed for this excursion. Yeomen Rand skims your attire in five minute intervals."

Jim blinks in surprise as a grin overtakes her lips. "Really? _Every _five minutes?"

"Affirmative," Spock informally confirms. "If you wait thirty seconds you will bare witness to this."

Jim chews on her bottom lip as she waits—but true to his word, Rand glances back at her and flushes when he notices that she's caught him, quickly turning away and hunching down to make himself seem small. "Ha. Okay. I'll let you have that one. But come on—what I'm wearing cant be that bad."

"I do not believe I stated this," Spock impassively returns. "I said that it was ill-suited to the task we are attempting to accomplish. Yeomen Rand's work efficiency has lowered twenty-five percent since your arrival, but it is not a major forfeiture."

"You think he likes me," Jim teases. "Which I already knew, but, it's just amusing to see you notice it. You're like my little pointy-eared puppy chaperone."

"Jim, I must ask you to refrain from comparing me to animals. It is offensive."

"I'm still not sorry."

"Then you are still vexing."

"Good. I'm glad. I want to get on your nerves because as my friend, you deserve the privilege," Jim remarks.

"A curious ideology," Spock states with a lifted brow.

"So what else? I know you've got more to say and I want to hear it." Jim stumbles over a rock. With the steady approach of the mountain, the rocks increase in size.

"I am not comfortable with you conversing so intimately with my older counterpart," Spock announces as his hands clench and unclench at his sides. "It is slightly—I do not like it."

"I'm not going to have sex with him if that's what you're worried about," Jim amusedly assures. "I just—there's something about him. I don't know. When we're alone, I just—I feel so—" She pauses with a blush as she wraps her arms around herself.

Spock cocks his head as they continue their walk and he flicks his dark gaze to her. "What is it?"

"Wanted," Jim admits reluctantly. "He makes me feel like I'm something just—worthy, you know? I don't feel like that. I don't—feel worthy of much when it comes to love and affection." She takes a moment to give a jerky shrug. "I'm a gorgeous woman. I know. But that's all anyone else will ever know. They can't see what's behind this face because I don't want them to. It's a horror story in wait. But when I'm with him he just knows me, and he still—it's hard not to believe the things he says about me. He does love me, all versions, and I think that's amazing really. It's not a physical desire. I just—I kind of hate the thought that he's alone and I know his James died and I can't replace him but I can—I don't know—I can be a friend. I don't need or want it to be more than that. And—oh my god I am just ranting and raving on and on. And _you _let me do that," she accuses as she pats her red cheeks.

Spock is quiet for a long moment. He must be processing her words. His gaze stays forward as he says, "You are a uniquely difficult individual. But you are not without your charms. He has years of experiencing a paralleled version of you in both the good and the bad. It would not be beyond my older counterpart to have developed an appreciation for the person you are and will become."

Jim sighs heavily and shakes her head. "I don't know if you know this, Spock—but I stopped liking myself a long time ago. And it's hard for me to think otherwise about myself. I don't know what I'll be five years from now or even two weeks from now. All I know is that I'm trying my best. I am trying _so _very hard to be someone that even _I _like. And I have my little episodes from time to time, but—I don't know. I'm just here doing what I can."

"I find that I am conflicted at times," Spock warily divulges. "But it is a universal feat, I believe, that every life-form comes to know some difficulty in the midst of their existence. The best way to counter them, however, is to remember that we can only learn from those moments, which temper us. Do not expect of yourself more than you are able to achieve."

"That is some sound advice," Jim marvels with speculative smile. "Why don't I listen to you more often?"

"I have frequently pondered this as well," Spock retorts dryly as he flicks his gaze to her and lifts his brow. "But I have also come to value your tenacity—you are often correct in your assumptions as well."

"It's called instinct, and I use it more than I do my intellect, which I'm not saying is a bad thing to do. But _sometimes, _I think it is good to be more _logical _about things then instinctive," she concedes. "That's why I need you. You frustrating Vulcan. You make me edgy but I need you. You're a good friend and I can't see my life without you."

Spock stiffens and there is a light tinge of green dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "I—return the sentiment," he yields reluctantly.

Jim snorts amusedly at her emotionally stunted First Officer. She has the deepest urge to keep pestering and teasing him until he's flushed from head to toe, but she's not such a jerk all the time. She pushes the urge back and keeps to herself, silently observing their surroundings with interest.

The sun is bright and persistent, which leads Jim to continually wipe the sweat from her brow, lest she wants to feel the salty sting in her eyes. The only person who makes noise is Rand, and much to her amusement, it's humming—the humming of show tunes that is. A lot of them are unfamiliar to her but there is a handful she recognizes. When she glances over to Spock, she notices the way he lifts his eyebrow in inquiry towards the back of Rand's oblivious head.

Sefor and Kovar keep up a steady march, barely turning or cocking their heads in any other direction besides their intended destination. They keep their hands clasped behind them against their lower back. Their paces also match.

Jim jams her hands in the front pockets of her navy overall shorts as a gust of dry air loops around her partially bare navel, arms, and legs. She glances up at the blue sky, and briefly searches out her ship before she lowers her gaze to the North Mountains. They are huge, beastly things—red and unevenly molded up to pointed tips. It reminds her of a red Mount Kilimanjaro. The base of the mountain is a tomato red, and as the rocks elevate, the color dulls off into a terracotta color. As she looks on with continuing interest, she notices how the ground that expands out from the North Mountains are crackling off into brownish red mud clay textures, with sizeable rocks littering random areas.

Jim frowns as her brain kicks into high gear.

By the time they reach the base of the North Mountain, it's already nightfall and it's unanimously decided that they will just stop and make camp.

It's a safer climb in the daylight hours.

Jim makes a fire using clay and stones and a bit of extra rope and the laser setting on her tricorder and it is glorious how baffled everyone is at her ability to do it. Not all the tricks she learns from Tarsus are bad ones.

Not long after that, Sefor and Kovar do not stick around to make camp with them. They explain that they must seek out a suitable place to begin the climb and lower the risk of danger as much as marginally possible. They separate—Sefor heads east and Kovar heads wet—and they begin their treks along the base of the mountain.

Jim sits beside Rand as Spock sits on the other side of the fire, working quietly and efficiently on his PADD. "So why is the mountain so steep?" she asks and turns to fully face Rand.

Rand stores his PADD away as he says, "That's a good question. I think it has to do a lot with the mantle erosion. It'll take at least a day to get to workable grounds where we can just trek upwards instead of climbing. I mean, no one has mentioned feeling any tremors. Yet the base of the mountain seems to be pushing outwards, as though it's being forced in this general direction. It's probably something that happens every century."

"10 mm/year at most," Spock clarifies without looking up from his PADD, the little intellectual multi-tasker. "The tectonic forces will have pushed the North Mountains up by as much as 25 kilometers. The amount of structural relief is 35,000 feet, which indicates a rate of uplift of 4.5 inches per hundred years."

Rand's eyebrows lift in captivation by such thoroughness. He looks at Jim with the same baffled expression.

"Yeah, he does that," Jim explains with a fondly entertained smile. "He's somuch fun at parties."

Spock briefly glances at Jim before he returns his gaze back down to his PADD.

The message in that look does not elude Jim in the slightest and it makes her smile widen in amusement. She turns to Rand and says, "So did you claim your throne?"

Rand laughs with a light blush and shifts timidly as he pulls free a canteen full of soup from his knapsack. "Yeah, I did. Thankfully. It was quite the challenge, but once I inserted my system into it, everything was nicely organized and functional," he remarks. "You don't know how many sick days were unaccounted for. There's going to be a handful of happy officers in the next two weeks. They'll have received the money they were due and it's pretty sizeable. I mean, what they get wont be a lot, but, it's enough to by some furniture."

"That is a reason to be happy," Jim laughs as Rand flushes again with an embarrassed shrug. For someone so attractive, he was adorably awkward and self-conscious. She nods when he makes an offering gesture to the soup in his hand. She takes the cup and holds it steady as he pours her some broth.

"Sorry to say, but it's probably just warm," Rand warns, but Jim waves him off.

"That's totally fine with me. I really hate hot liquids," she assures. "Bad past experiences and all that."

"Yeah, okay. Sure," Rand says with a bemused grin. He looks across the fire. "Commander Spock—can I tempt you with some homemade chicken soup?"

"Thank you, but I will decline," Spock replies without looking up from his PADD.

Rand just shrugs and turns his attention back to Jim.

"So, um," Jim drawls, drumming up some conversation. "With your outstanding administrative skills—how exactly did you get into the mountain climbing and cartography business?"

Rand smiles and ducks his head as he pours himself some soup. "Well," he starts. "It was my grandfather actually. He was a bit of a map enthusiast. He just, loved the stuff and he collected all sorts of diagrams or emulated a region he knew from mere memory. My brothers didn't think much of it, but I thought it was amazing—and so when I wasn't stargazing or nose deep in a book or drawing charactures, I was right up under my grandfather in his study, watching and listening and learning. After he died, I sort of took on his hobby. The mountain climbing, however, is just another pastime of mine. When you live on a farm for most of your life, you get a bit antsy about seeing _anything _other than a bunch of chickens or cows or corn or your dick brothers—pardon my language."

Jim chuckles and waves him off. "No, it's fine. I completely get what you mean. Dicks and all. I grew up in Iowa so I know how it goes. When I was old enough to get out and about on my own, that's exactly what I was doing," she says as she takes a sip. "I don't know what it is about open fields and corn—but it just makes you wanna fly the coop doesn't it?"

"I think I was fishing for my aviator's license the moment I left my mother's womb," Rand jokes as he chuckles into the cup of his broth.

Jim hums and licks her lips. "This is good. I don't drink a lot of soups, granted—but this is really good. You made it yourself you said?"

"Yup," Rand confirms as he finishes his cup.

"You're a man of many talents it seems," Jim speculates. "So why did you pick administrative work, and why'd you pick Starfleet?"

"I don't know really. I guess its just one of those things. I've always wanted to sail the stars and keep my feet off the ground," Rand supposes as he tears open the wrapper for a granola bar. "I have no complaints about what I'm doing. I really like it and when I'm not doing it, I get to work on all other sorts of projects. So at the moment, where I'm at is perfect. I like my bosses, and the people I work with and it's just—great."

Jim gives a thoughtful hum as she finishes up her cup of soup. She hands it back to Rand, who exchanges it for a granola bar. She uses her teeth to tear the wrapper off.

"What about you, Captain?" Rand takes a moment to chew before he goes on to ask, "Brothers? Sisters? Hobbies? Interests? Family recipes? I feel like I said too much about myself. Let's level the playing field."

Jim snorts and says. "Okay." She finishes chewing the bite in her mouth before she continues, "I have one brother, and two sisters. They're all younger than me. They're sweethearts and they write me all the time. They make me want to be a better person and all that other mushy gushy stuff. I don't have any family recipes that I'm aware of. Um—when I'm not playing captain, I like to gorge myself on apples and chocolate."

"Nothing wrong with that," Rand quips as he toasts his granola bar at her.

"I really enjoy playing chess, or I used to. I haven't played since I left the academy. I used to throttle my roommate all the time, and he would hate me for it but I didn't care. I really like doing hair too, now that I think about. I used to be the braid guru back when I was at the academy. I had all manner of women coming to me with this idea they had for their hair or they'd let me take free reign," Jim says, and she takes another bite of her granola.

"Awesome," Rand remarks with an impressed nod. "So what do you think? Can you do something with my hair?"

"Sure, if we add some extensions," Jim replies with a chuckle. "Uh—what else? I—am a bit of a science and math geek. I love a good difficult equation. The more challenging, the better. I dabble in different subjects too, so that's something we have in common. I read up on botany from time to time. I love animals—which is why I'm a semi-vegetarian. But I can't resist a good chicken or turkey—yeah I know, stop laughing because it's true. I enjoy nonfictional books, and I have maybe even a handful of books that are fiction but otherwise I can't get into it. I love to surf. And I'm a bit of a shopaholic if you give me half the chance."

"What about instruments?" Rand says as he shoves the granola wrapper in his knapsack. "Is there anything you play?"

"Not really. I mean I can play the piano really well, and I'm _kinda _handy with a guitar," Jim supposes with a mild shrug. "But other than that, nope. How about you?"

"Guitars are my life, I won't lie. I used to be in a band back in high school," Rand admits with embarrassed flush as Jim covers her mouth and laughs into her palm. "Yeah—we called ourselves _Mad Candy_."

Jim snorts and turns away as she laughs.

"I can't believe I'm admitting this, but the inspiration for the name came from this crush I had back in grade school. There was this girl named Madeline Candy and I just was never over it," Rand admits with a self-deprecating headshake.

"Awe, that's kind of sweet," Jim chuckles as she fans at her reddened face and moist eyes. "And you know what? I still remember my first crush. They were twins. Alana and Aaron Weathers."

"Wow. You didn't settle for just one," Rand notes with an amused grin.

"I sure didn't," Jim confirms. "But you know they turned out to be total pricks later on. So, you know—best thing I never had."

"True," Rand agrees as he stands. "Excuse me, Captain. Nature calls."

Jim just nods and watches him disappear into the gathering darkness with nothing but a flashlight, leaving her alone with Spock.

"You are interested in him," Spock resolutely states, shaking the still silence of the night.

"What makes you think that?" Jim drawls with a meticulous expression.

"Your behavior indicates it."

"Oh," Jim simply says and wiggles her mouth thoughtfully. "Do you—is that a—problem?"

"No," Spock merely says. "However, if you are to pursue a relationship, given that your ranks supersedes his—I urge you to be discreet."

"Spock," Jim drawls with a fond smile. "Is that actual approval for something that goes against regulation?"

"It would appear so," Spock admits evenly as he gives her a brief glance before he calls his attention back to the PADD in his lap. "I am given to understand that friends offer support and advice in such situations."

Jim doesn't say anything, but her smile does lengthen. She makes a mental note to buy him something nice.

What did Vulcans like exactly? Paperclips maybe?

Jim snorts and rolls her eyes at herself, just as Rand returns. They chat animatedly a little while after that, and she ends up growing more and more interested in Rand. He tuckers in after a while after a string of yawns, and because she can tell he's tired, she lets him be. He gives her a timid smile as he rolls out his sleep mat and spreads out, falling asleep in mere seconds. She observes him for a few quiet minutes before she crawls over to Spock and sits beside him.

"What have you been working on this whole time?" she asks with unconcealed curiosity.

"Various projects," Spock vaguely explains. "Dr. Cruise has forwarded me a list of Vulcan plants that are being voluntarily donated to Starfleet from an array of planets. I am examining the list to confirm which plants will be of use to New Vulcan and which will not. Also, there are several species that have offered to bestow animals that have originated from Vulcan unto us. I am to verify this list as well."

"Cool," Jim remarks with nod. She yawns without meaning to.

"You are fatigued," Spock notes without looking at her fully. He pauses his work to extract his sleep mat from his knapsack.

Jim spies a pair of binoculars and she perks up eagerly. "Can I see those? The binoculars."

Spock hands her the binoculars along with the sleep mat.

"Thanks," Jim says, but then frowns. "Wait, aren't you going to sleep?"

"I do not necessarily require it," Spock assures. "Though I am aware that humans generally do."

"Well thanks again. I kinda feel like I'm being a pain and putting you out but thanks," she says and stands, unfolding the sleep mat out on east side of the fire.

Spock inclines his head wordlessly before he focuses his attention back to his PADD and his work.

Jim unlaces her boots, takes off her socks as she wiggles her toes and lies on her back under the stars. It's truly a beautiful sight. Her plum painted toes wiggle and flex in contentment as the fire crackles beside her. She manually sets the binoculars and aims it up at the sky as she zooms in on different constellations with a smile. She yawns and flexes her toes again as she silently names the constellations and their points while simultaneously adjusting the focus and zoom.

It's the most content she feels in a long time.

888

Jim falls asleep without knowing that she's done it. She dreams that's she's still wide-eyed and staring up at the sky as the fire crackles beside her. She's counting the stars when she decides to get up and walk in the opposite direction of their little camp. The night is calm and the air is warm, flushing her skin from head to toe as she treks barefoot across the uneven plains of rocks and sand. She walks for a good two hours before she just stops and drops to her knees before she plops back on her butt. She folds her legs like a pretzel under herself and grips her ankles as a gentle breeze sways her long bangs into her blue eyes.

She thinks about how upset Spock will be when he looks up and notices that she is not present.

But when Jim looks down and sees the phrase '**_KODOS LIVES_**' carved into deep proud lines in the sand, she can't find it in herself to care much about that.

Shadows pass overhead and at the caw of a bird, Jim looks up to see vultures and ravens circling above.

A hole forms in her gut, and it's engraved from anger and fear and uncertainty. It burns and bubbles low in her bowels, rising up past her navel and into her chest like acid. Her hands are shaking, her lips are dry and her eyes are burning in the confines of her sockets but no tears fall. She doesn't cry in disappear—there is none inside of her. She's angry—so fucking mortified with fury that she can barely keep it in as her shoulders tremble.

That fucker Kodos is _free_ and _alive_ and out _there_ somewhere.

She _hates_ that—hates it—hates _him_.

There is a part of Jim that is a bit gleeful at the prospect. There is a sliver of something dark and anxious and full of anticipation at the thought. If she could get her hands on him, she would rip him to fucking shreds until there was nothing left but blood and bone—for all those boys, she would fucking do it for all those boys. Back then, she couldn't do anything at all. She was small and weak and scared. But now, oh now, she could do so much. So _much_.

Jim cringes as a furious sob presses against the inside of her ribcage on all sides in efforts to escape. She starts to gasp as her heart thumps in distress and bowls her over onto her hands and need in a panting mess. She grunts and gasps as she punches her hands in the ground until she's wrists deep and fisting the sand in her hands. Goosebumps wrack her body as she coughs and wheezes. Her skin feels taunt and tight and oh God—she's having a fucking panic attack. She hasn't had one this bad in _years_. Not since Tarsus—and _God _she can't get a handle over it—it just—it hurts so much to try and keep it in.

Jim trembles before she screams at the ground in one long breath until she's forced to stop and gasp sharply. She coughs out a sob as her lungs contract and she lets out another hoarse scream while she slams her fist into the ground. She hiccups into another gasp, then coughs out another ragged scream while she beats her hands into the sand in a fit of rage and agony. Every time she screams out she is making an incoherent vow to hunt Kodos down and rip him into shreds with her bare hands. She would. She _would. _

On her father's fucking grave she swears she would—

"Jim."

Jim hiccups and coughs.

"Jim, what is the matter?"

Jim shakes her head as she sits back on her legs and hiccups. "Everything," she whimpers as she presses her mouth into the curled fingers of her hands. "Everything is wrong. He's alive and it's _not _fair. It's not _fair_."

"Who? Who is alive?"

Jim stares vacantly into the distance as her body jerks with another hiccup. She points at the phrase carved into the sand. The silence that follows is louder than it should be.

"Jim."

Jim lifts her glassy blue eyes and looks at Spock and blinks at him. He is crouched on his knees beside her in his science uniform. The blue looks good against his pale skin. She blinks and says, "How did you find me?"

"I do not know. I—sensed something was amiss."

Jim stares at him blankly for a long moment before she looks away and says, "Well it's a good thing we're going to get this link blocked soon. Sometimes I don't want to be found."

Spock studies her carefully before he replies, "You do not know you are asleep."

"Am I?" Jim retorts as she blinks through a series of tears. "Am I asleep and I don't even know it?"

"Under high levels of stress, the body can succumb to immediate catalepsy. It is not uncommon among humans," Spock remarks in that lecturing monotone way of his. "I sensed your distress, and out of concern, I accosted your mind."

"I don't want you to do that," Jim says as she stumbles to her feet. "I don't need your help. I don't need Bones's help. I don't need _anyone's _help. I'm fine on my own. I've always been on my own. I'm not weak anymore, I can take care of things myself."

"Why should you have to?" Spock counters as he stands and tucks his hands behind him. "I am your friend. Allow me to share the burden."

"No," Jim simply says. "How can I when you won't even let me offer the same courtesy?"

"I am unsure to what you—"

"I know your people have been giving you a hard time," Jim mumbles. "You've done enough to keep me out of that."

Spock tenses, and tersely replies, "It is a personal matter."

"Well so is this," Jim counters with a tremor in her voice. She's scared. She's angry and spiteful and scared and she doesn't want Spock to see her like this. It's shameful and she doesn't want him to know how badly she actually wants him here to help. She doesn't want to be weak—she can't be weak. "I—I don't need you here. So get out of my head and leave me alone. I don't _want _you here. Friend or not."

Spock hesitates, but he steps back, and the hurt he feels is clear in his tense shoulders as he says, "Very well."

Jim swallows dryly as she watches his outline dissipates and come to nothing. Her fingers twitch along her sides as she closes her eyes. When she opens them, she's staring up into an illuminated sky. She briefly shudders against the heat of the daylight and shoves her feelings down as deep as she can before she rolls into a sitting position. She nods quietly at a smiling Rand who is already wide-eyed and ready to continue their expedition. He's rolling up his mat and shoving it in his steel tube, before he jams that into his knapsack.

Jim rolls her bottom lip between her teeth as she wordlessly hands Spock back his sleeping mat and binoculars. She doesn't miss the way he avoids her gaze as he accepts it, nor the perturbed furrow of his brow, the unnatural stiffness of his posture and the set line of his shoulders. She refuses to feel guilty—she doesn't have time for it—she can sort it out later.

Sefor and Kovar have returned from their investigative hike, and are waiting patiently for them to gather and follow them to the place they have designated as a suitable place to begin the climb.

The walk to said place takes fifteen minutes, and without hesitation, Sefor and Kovar begin climbing the North Mountain without the aid of rope or any kind of hoisting device.

Jim is mildly impressed, but not the least bit surprised.

Spock studies the frame of the wall before he follows his Vulcan counterparts up, taking careful mounts and fewer pauses.

This leaves her and Rand to fend for themselves the way humans usually do when they have to climb a mountain. Rand does most of the work and preparation, since he has more hands-on experience. He ties himself off with the intelliRope and makes sure that the connecting line to Jim is just as secure. Then he carefully outfits Jim's hands with the BioGloves, which he claims will make the climb all the easier and quicker. The insides of these grey gloves are cool and comfortable, while the outside is rubber gel like with tiny air pockets stamped around the raised bumps and grooves along the palm and finger pads.

"No worries," Rand assures as he begins a careful ascent. "The gloves will remember the grooves and do the rest of the work. Just pace yourself and tug my rope three times if there's any problem or you need me to slow down."

Jim begins to climb up behind him with a grin and says, "What if I need you to speed up?"

Rand laughs with the wind and throws her down a wink. He then focuses on his climb.

The mount is fairly easy—easier than what Jim originally thought. She must be in better shape than she realizes, but then again she is a little twig so it's not like she's hauling a lot of weight up the mountain. She can't even really whine about her weight because she doesn't eat. It's not intentional, but when she's preoccupied she just doesn't really think about it. As she climbs, she makes a little promise to herself to try and change that. If she's fortunate enough to have food than she should enjoy it. After all, it wasn't too long ago when she would have given anything for a piece of bread.

Jim stumbles and falls down a few paces with a hiss. She waves her hand to Rand to assure him she's all right. She really should have known better to think about Tarsus at a time like this. So she flushes it from her mind and focuses on the task at hand.

By nightfall, they reach their designated checkpoint. It's taken a whole day to get at least a third of the way up the North Mountains, and they still had far to go, but it was progress at least.

Rand chats enthusiastically about how fascinating he finds the texture of the mountain. It's unlike anything he's ever encountered. The rocks should usually be more solidified than they are, but they felt and appeared damp—almost like hardened clay.

Spock briefly shares in the opinion, stating how he noticed it as well.

Jim doesn't say anything at all. She remains as quiet as Sefor and Kovar have.

At the arrival of their designated camp, the two eldest Vulcans have kept mostly to themselves.

Rand tosses her two granola bars and she doesn't hesitate eating them.

When she finishes, she scurries off and mumbles, "Bathroom break." No one follows her and she finds some rock to stoop behind. Her communicator chirps.

"_McCoy to Kirk damn it!"_

Jim smiles, flips open her communicator and responds, "Kirk here. Cool your jets."

"_Where have you been? I've been tryin' to reach you all day._"

Jim frowns as she straightens from her crouched position and fixes her clothes. "Really? All day?"

"_I believe that's what I said. Now where are you?_"

"On an excursion for water through the North Mountains with Spock and company," Jim explains as she wanders further off.

"_Oh yeah? And how long is this little adventure gonna take?_"

"Don't know. Couple more days at least." Jim stops at the edge of a cliff and peers down. It's a great thing she's not afraid of heights, otherwise the view she sees would have been gut wrenching. "I know it's hard, but try not to miss me too much."

"_Yeah—full—aren't—" _Static interference. "_Supposed—with—gut—"_

Jim frowns and glares down at her communicator as she hits the side of it against the butt of her palm. "Bones? Hey—can you—can you hear me?"

"_Goin'—and—much—" _More static. "_Jim—hear—Jim—"_

"Bones?"

The connection dies with a ping.

Jim sighs and studies her device with a thoughtful frown as she holds it up to the sky. She tries to dial back but the whirr and ping of the connection drop clues her in that she's not going to have much luck. She curses lowly and snaps the communicator shut with a resigned sigh. She crosses an arm over her chest as she rubs the top of her communicator against her chin thoughtfully, staring into the barely visible rocky outlines of the mountainside.

That's when she sees it. A large darting figure that disappears just as quickly as it appears.

"What—the—fuck?" Jim mutters as she hunches down on her knees and leans closer to the edge, searching rapidly for the darting black shadow. A hand falls down on her shoulder making her jump back with a yelp and scramble to her feet, hands curled over her phaser and aimed to stun.

"Whoa! Whoa! Don't shoot me!" Rand begs, shielding his face in a weak attempt of protection. "Commander Spock asked me to check on you because you were taking a long time. We were worried you might've gotten lost or fell or something—can you lower that thing, they make me nervous."

Jim relaxes her stances and returns her phaser back to her holster. "This isn't right," she mutters as she looks down at her feet. She picks up a smooth stone that is as big as her hand.

"What? What happened?" Rand questions with a curious frown. "What isn't right?"

"_None _of it," Jim insists as she turns the rock over several times. "To begin with—my First Officer was sanctioned by the Vulcan Council for an expedition I wasn't made aware of beforehand or even asked about." She pauses and throws the rock. It clatters somewhere unseen. Jim picks up another hefty stone to repeat the action. "_Then_—the shapes of these rocks—growing larger and larger as we get closer to the mountain. It's not that hard to figure out that they must be like some sort chipped off debris of the moment caused by a kind friction or a—a—quake." She continues to chuck rocks as they clatter. She's throwing a bit aimlessly but she has a point to prove. "Then I have static interference with my communicator which is the only kind of thing that should occur if I so happened to be on top of a volcano. Which we shouldn't be on, am I right? Not unless our Vulcan companions have failed to mention the fact—which is another thing." She swipes some more stones from off the ground and begins throwing those. "I know Vulcans can be quiet and a bit to themselves—I should know, I work with one—but even then they aren't _that _quiet. Which makes me think they are hiding something. And lastly—_this_." She turns away and chucks the biggest stone she can find as far as she can and waits for a resounding echo.

There is none.

Rand frowns as they search the dark together. "Why wasn't there a report?" he mutters. "A stone that big—it should've been one like with the others—but, there was no sound."

"That's because someone caught it. Someone, or something," Jim explains blankly as they continue to stare out into the darkness of the mountain. "We're being followed."

"Oh," Rand says weakly. "Well I—maybe we should mention this to the others?"

"No. Not yet," Jim decides. "Not until we see what's inside this mountain."

Rand nods wordlessly and turns away, heading back to their little camp.

Jim lingers a moment longer, searching the dark and waiting for movement that never comes. She slides away and returns to the camp as well.

Sefor and Kovar are nowhere to be found.

"Where's the other two?" Jim asks, looking at Spock, who is sitting as far as he can away from the edge and against the mountain wall.

"They are seeking privacy to meditate," Spock replies without looking up from his PADD. He must still be upset with her.

Jim looks at Rand who returns the look with a mildly speculative shrug. She sighs and drops herself on the other side of Rand, who is sitting several paces away from Spock. She folds her legs under her as she looks out into the distance, vaguely making out the outlines of the camps, which are illuminated by torches and lamps. From this distance, the camps look so small and meager, compared to the rest of the planet. But Jim knows that there are over 12,500 bodies out there—2,500 being her own doubled crew, while the Vulcans made up the other 10,000.

"Looks small," Rand murmurs as he leans his head back against the wall and crosses his arms. "The camps."

"I was just thinking that," Jim admits as she pulls her legs up and wraps her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees.

"Back home," Rand continues. "When my granddad was still alive—he'd called that sort of thing '_God vision'_."

"God vision?"

Rand nods and explains, "When you see something—like really look at it, and it's the smallest aspect of a bigger view. It's like looking with the eyes of God." He shrugs and shakes his head thoughtfully. "This is creation—it's beyond comprehension, but, here it all is."

"Hm," Jim hums as she cocks her head against her knees and peers at the camps. A warm breeze sways in and brings with it silence and solidarity.

Rand falls asleep with his head cocked back against the wall and his mouth agape—but he doesn't snore. She's coming to understand that Rand has the ability to fall asleep at the drop of a dime. It's amusing as much as it is adorable.

Jim glances across him at Spock, whose face is illuminated by the light of his PADD. She makes sure to pull her gaze away before he notices. She bows her head and presses her forehead against her knees and shuts her eyes.

She dreams about a group of crows walking in a circle around a raven lying face up with its feet in the air and wings expanded in a puddle of its own blood.

The caws of the crows echo ominously in her ears, even long after she wakes.

888

The second day of the climb is way easier than the first—just for the simple fact that Sefor and Kovar lead them up to an open pathway that winds around the mountain and to the channels they've specified held the water source.

Jim is sweating and uncomfortable and sticky and she's changing her mind about this whole rock-climbing thing. Her feet are sore, simply because her damp feet keep sliding against the walls of her borrowed cleats. Rand's feet are bigger than her own of course, so it results in some uncomfortable friction. She silently hopes she isn't getting callouses as they round another bend. If she is, she's _so _going to make Rand give her feet the spa treatment after all this.

Sefor and Kovar stop at the mouth of a cave and retrieve their flashlights from the inside of their holster vests, aiming them towards the darkness of the cave. They enter in without really waiting for the rest of them.

Jim frowns as she takes off her cleats and hands them to Rand in exchange for an extra flashlight he has. "Be careful, Rand. I know I shouldn't have to tell you that, but I am for my own security," she says.

"Will do boss. Nice and easy." Rand gives her the thumbs-up after he tucks the cleats away in his knapsack and aims his flashlight at the cave opening before he begins his descent inside.

Spock wordlessly follows behind him.

Jim exhales heavily before she turns on her flashlight. The light sputters a few times, and she has to hit the head to get it to work. She travels carefully across jaggedly sharp stones to the mouth of the cave. It's damply cool, a relief from the heat—and as she presses her hand against the wall, she notices that its moist with moss and water. She flinches slightly when a drop of water hits her cheek. Her flashlight sputters, shrouding her with darkness and she's forced to stop with the attempt of shaking it on. It takes ten minutes but it finally illuminates again, but by this point she can't really see Spock or Rand.

"Hey guys," Jim calls as she uses the back of her hand to dry her face. "Not so fast, please." She aims her flashlight around as she tries to get an awareness of her surroundings.

There is a clatter of a rock behind her.

Jim turns in the direction of the sound but there's nothing there. She puts her free hand on the handle of her phaser just in case.

Moving on, she notices that the floor of the cave is made of a bed of small stones with smooth faces and water in between the gapes. She definitely can't even see Rand or Spock anymore—let alone Sefor and Kovar.

"Great," Jim mutters with a sigh. She shakes her head and aims her flashlight around to see if she can find a way to figure out where they went.

Of course, that's when she comes to three separate entrances.

"Fuck me," Jim mumbles as she eyes the three openings. She huffs with an annoyed sigh and pulls her communicator free. "Kirk to Spock."

Nothing.

"Kirk to Spock. Come in if you read me."

Nothing.

Jim's face scrunches unhappily as she holds up her communicator. She has no signal. Swell.

She hears a caw and another clatter of a rock to her immediate left. Quickly aiming her flashlight to the third entrance, she carefully steps in that general direction to locate the source of the sound.

"Hello!" she calls, but it's only her voice that echoes. She follows the channel down until she hears the unmistakable roar of water. She sees sunlight and when she exits the wet tunnel, she's immediately assaulted by a cool breeze intertwined with mist.

It's a massive sea cavern of ice green waterfalls interlaced with plant vines tattooing the walls. It's awe-inspiring as much as it is surprising. It smells like rain, and as she stands on the edge of a small cliff, she looks down into the crystal clear water formed from the multiple waterfalls coming from up above through different openings. She switches her flashlight off, there's no need for it anymore, and peers around at each waterfall again. She looks down into the still waters below.

"Captain Kirk!" Rand calls as he and Spock appear at the exit she just came from.

"Hey. What happened?" Jim asks as she turns toward them and puts her back to the falls.

Spock tenses as he eyes her position at the edge of the stony platform, and says, "We were attempting to locate Sefor and Kovar when they deliberately departed from us. During which, Yeomen Rand explained to me your suspicions of them."

Jim gives Rand a look.

"Sorry—I just—I had too," Rand says as he rubs the back of his neck timidly. "I didn't want either of us walking into a trap. And we had to find you so—"

"You went through the other tunnels?" Jim questions, ignoring her irritation for the moment.

"Yeah, dead ends. Both of them. Except for this one of course," Rand replies as he looks around with a baffled expression. "Guess they were right about the water source. But why'd they lead us up here just to leave us?"

"I don't think they intended for you and I to be here," Jim supposes as she looks directly at Spock.

Spock's brow furrows, but he doesn't seem ignorant of what she's trying to imply.

"This is going _way _too far," Jim states, barely able to contain her anger. "If you won't do anything about them, then I will."

Suddenly, twin stoic voices reverberate off the walls of the sea cavern.

"_Khosaar t'suk'kunel zhu-tor nash ishtaya kulah vestal ma etak J'Kah nufaya._"

A smoky cloud of fog forms among the ceiling of the sea cavern. Small sparks twist around this cloud as the waters below begin to spin inward into a vortex. A crack of thunder follows a massive quake, and _seriously_, Jim is beginning to fucking _hate_ lightening.

"_Nar-tor nash-trufemu. Nar-tor nash-trufemu._"

"What is that?" Rand says as he looks around.

"Sounds like a bunch of cowards!" Jim yells as she looks around for Sefor and Kovar.

"It is a prayer." Spock eyes are dark with unhappiness and concern. "They are praying to the old gods—executing a sacramental ritual that has been prohibited for many centuries."

Rand looks at the storm cloud in dismay and says, "But why?"

"Because these rituals do not follow the principles of Surak—and also because the ritual requires a living blood sacrifice," Spock murmurs as his eyes lower from the massive storm cloud forming overhead, and down to Jim. "I believe I was the intended victim of choice. But Captain Kirk is—" He shoulders tense further as understanding usurps his normally stoic expression. "Captain—if you remove yourself from the edge, you will find me most appreciative," he urges with a barely concealed tremor in his voice. His eyes look shaded with something darker than concern.

Jim pauses when she remembers that the way she is standing and where she is standing is the same that his mother stood on the day she died. She's definitely not insensitive to the fact that this is presenting a major problem for Spock. She moves to step away but the platform shakes and weakens under feet stalling her escape. Her heart thumps wildly out of anxiety and she realizes that if she takes another step, the cliff will just collapse under her feet.

"Spock—" Jim gets cut off as the ground beneath her rumbles all the more.

Spock steps forward as he quickly studies the ground under Jim's feet with considerate calculation. "Yeomen Rand—as soon as you are able, you must flee the mountains." He takes another step towards her. "Sefor and Kovar may seek to harm you."

"Don't," Jim warns as she works to maintain her balance by keeping her feet apart and her hands level with her chest—the same way she would stand if she were on a surfboard. "If you come any closer—then you'll just fall and die with me."

Spock stubbornly ignores her, concentrating only on distributing the weight of his footfalls evenly so that he can make it to her. He takes another step forward as he goes on to address Rand, "When you are at a safe distance, you must hail the Enterprise and instruct them to beam you aboard. Do the same for my father as well and locate a security team. You must not speak to anyone outside of them otherwise. A search party will be required."

"Stop!" Jim shouts, watery eyes finally catching his determined gaze. He looks at her wordlessly and for a brief moment, time seems to stall as she slowly shakes her head at him. "Don't make me drag you down with me—just go with Rand and get—"

"Jim, quiet yourself," Spock says as he takes another step forward. "You are behaving irrationally."

"Me? What about you? You stubborn—" Jim gasps as she feels the rocky platform beneath her feet give way.

Spock lunges across what little space there is between them and folds her in his arms as they go crashing into the cyclone of water.

It's a mess of darkness and rough tugs as the current pulls them under into a region unknown. They collide into a turf of rocks, Spock taking most of the blows in efforts to use his own body to shield Jim's more fragile frame. She knows he must be in a lot of pain because his arms tighten painfully around her ribs several times. But by some miracle, they survive the turbulence of the whirlpool, which sucks them in from one end and thankfully spouts them out the other. They wash ashore along a bank of stones.

Jim coughs wetly and gasps, greedily sucking in as much air as she can. She's soaked from head to toe and she feels like she skinned her knees, elbows, and even her chin. She's definitely dislocated her shoulder and her ribs feel sore all around, but thankfully not broken. She quickly looks at Spock, who is lying unconscious in the tide of the water. She hobbles over on the ankle that doesn't feel like it's sprained and uses what little strength she has to pull him completely from the water.

It's no easy feat. Spock feels like he weighs a hefty ton. But she manages somehow, and she drags him all the way to a nearby boulder sticking up from the sand. She puts her hand under his nose and sighs in relief when she feels air hitting her fingers. She takes a moment to asses the damage to his body and she winces when she notices, outside of the green bruise in his right cheek and his split bottom lip, the severely deep cut sliced into the shin of his right leg—and oh God, she can even see a bit of bone.

Not good. Not good at all.

Spock's eyes flutter open and he tenses in pain and discomfort, but his eyes immediately seek her out and he seems to relax when he notices she's right by his side.

"I'm sorry," Jim says around a watery cough while she hugs her arm around her creaking ribcage and uses the other to clasp Spock's upper arm. "You really shouldn't have done that! God—I'm so sorry. "

"It is no matter," Spock rasps as he struggles to sit up. He manages on his third try and with her help. He props himself against the boulder behind them. "Where are you hurt?"

Jim swallows dryly as her shoulders and ribs ache. "Shouldn't you be asking me _if _I'm hurt?"

Spock's mouth flattens into a grim line as a layer of sweat breaks out across his forehead under his short bangs. "If I do," he rasps. "You will merely lie."

"I'm fine," Jim lies anyway. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Where are you injured?"

"Can you even still feel your legs?"

"James—"

"Oh my God, you frustrating Vulcan!" Jim says with as much exasperation as she can muster. She unbuttons her overalls and lets the upper half fall and shows him the purpling bruises forming across her lower ribcage where he was clinging to her tightly. "I don't think anything's broken, but it hurts like hell—cant be helped though. I think I dislocated my left shoulder, but I can set it back myself. I've done it before. And I've got a few scrapes but I'll live. There. That's it, that's all. You're the one with the serious injuries. You tried to break my fall you idiot—I wish you hadn't done that."

"There was a great probability that your neck would have snapped on impact during the commotion of the whirlpool had I not. Also, there was an undeniable likelihood that had you landed any other way, your collision would have ensued a far more serious contusion in your skull, resulting in internal bleeding and subsequent death by drowning. Either way, you could have died. The fact alone is unacceptable—however, I will heal and you are still alive," Spock calmly specifies.

Jim stares at him for a long moment before she throws all caution to the wind and hugs him, exhaling shakily as he stiffens under her touch.

Spock eventually relaxes under her and remains quiet, having enough sense not to ask her to remove herself.

Jim eventually manages to catch her bearings and pulls away with damp eyes. She exhales shakily once more as she looks around and tries to think up a plan. They seem to be in a gigantic cave located on the opposite end of where they initially were in the mountain. She looks to the mouth of the cave and out into the distance where she can see rolling hills of sand and sky.

She turns back to Spock, who is paler than he normally would be. She looks down at his leg and begins to rip the pantleg of his trousers off. She can see thickly dark green bruises all around the inner thigh of his right leg. "You have a quadriceps contusion," she says as she uses the cloth to cover the open wound on his shin. Her hands are shaking and her shoulders are trembling. She feels awful and responsible for this. By the time she is done, her hands are covered in green blood. "The cut on your shin is messy, but I don't think you're at risk for infection. If we can be found quick enough—"

"It is not necessary, my body will heal itself without the aid."

"Oh good," Jim mutters as she continues to avoid his eyes. Her gut is churning painfully and her shoulders are still trembling.

"Jim—"

"I'm going to go outside and look around," Jim chokes and quickly stumbles to her feet. She flees before he can try and stop her and she moves as far as she can before she has to stop and throw up. Tears burn her eyes as her throat begins to feel raw and sore. She swipes the back of her hand against her mouth and tries to calm down. The brunt of the situation is really getting to her. Spock's own people tried to kill him and if she hadn't been there—maybe they would have succeeded and she—she—she wouldn't have known.

There will be fucking hell to pay for that one.

Jim shudders and closes her eyes against the glare of the sunlight. She exhales carefully as she tries to pull herself together. When she stands, she realizes that her holster is gone—washed away in the tide of the whirlpool. She grits her teeth and quickly sets her shoulder right as she yelps in shocked pain. She flexes the fingers of her left hand stiffly as the blood flow returns and she wipes her long wet bangs out of her eyes. She looks around, narrowing her eyes against the glare of the sun as she tries to identify anything of use.

There's nothing.

Jim has no idea where they are exactly, but she hopes they can be found just as easily. She hobbles back to the cave and plops down beside a fatigued Spock. "I didn't see anything," she says as she looks at his waist and notes that he's without his holster as well. Hopefully they wouldn't need their phasers, but it's not clear if Sefor or Kovar will come searching for them to make sure the job is done. She tries not to think about it, and remains optimistic. "How are you holding up?"

"The pain is tolerable," Spock rasps as his lids lower, and its clear that is most certainly is not. "Though I find I may be going into a healing trance. It is not the suitable time nor the place."

"I won't mind if you do," Jim reassures with a weak smile. "Anything that will help you get better is fine with me."

"I would rather do so when I know that we are safe," Spock clarifies, but his eyelids lower a fraction more.

"We're safe in a way, I think," Jim swears. "Stop fighting it if you're just doing it because you're worried about me. I'm okay—you're the one that isn't. Just let nature take its course. You know, I'll just keep fussing at you until you give in."

"I do not doubt that," Spock remarks dryly. "Jim—if you do remain within distance, you will find me most appreciative."

"I'll be here. Even when you wake up," Jim promises and touches his shoulder. "Rest."

Spock's eyes close fully and he goes still.

Jim carefully rearranges him so he's lying more comfortably in the sand. She puts his head in her lap as she props herself against the boulder instead. She leans her head back against the boulder and closes her eyes in an attempt to lower her anxiety.

She hopes they are found _very _soon.

She has some asses to kick.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_So…? What did you think? _


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Three**

This is sleep is different.

It's not like anything else. It's like falling through a dark tunnel that's vertical. She's sinking into darkness towards a light at the bottom that feels soft and warm. She's not sure how she's gotten like this—falling.

This sleep is different.

There's warmth in the darkness and the light is her guide and the walls of this vertical tunnel is brown like cinnamon. Like Spock's eyes. And it's warm. Like's Spock's warmth.

He's leading her out. Out of where—she doesn't know. But she sinks into it until she reaches the bottom of the tunnel and into the light.

She wakes up in pain—this calls for some confusion.

The pain is unshakeable and cloaks her like a stifling blanket. Her eyes are wet with it. Her lungs are throbbing with it. It feels like someone is sitting on her chest while simultaneously pricking her skin with a thousand heated sowing needles. Her head feels as if it might split open like an egg and her eyes and mouth are burning with fever. Her brain feels like its compacted in her skull in something wet and unpleasant and hot. Her veins are thumping and her throat is dry. It takes her a few tries to navigate her eyesight against the bright ceiling lights of the Enterprise.

The Enterprise.

She is on her ship.

Her aching joints sag in relief when she realizes that she's on a biobed in sickbay. She doesn't take much to contemplate the how or the why, seeing as how she was in a cave not too long ago with her unconscious First Officer.

Spock.

Jim turns her head to her left with some exertion, and her neck tendons ache with the effort. She doesn't care. Her heart is teetering like an upset swing and threatening to shake itself loose as panic tips like a bitter wine winding down the expanse of her esophagus. But when she sees Spock lying motionless in the biobed beside hers, her body deflates in relief and she no longer feels the need to swallow her own tongue. He's there—he's safe. It's—fine. It's all fine.

Spock still looks paler than normal, but the bruises along his jaw and cheeks (as well as the cuts) are fading away. That's—God, that's good. She takes a moment to swallow dryly several times as her fingers and toes expand and wiggle weakly. Her body feels weird—not altogether solid—like she's wearing someone else's skin maybe.

She faces forward and pins her gaze to the ceiling. She counts the lights as her chest falls and rises shallowly with dizzying slowness. Her blue eyes sink down, and over the slight curve of her pink cheeks, she manages to work out the outlines of Bones, Sarek and T'Pau. They seem to be discussing some matter very seriously in low tones in the doorway of Bones's personal office. The sight of them fizzles a cold relief that bubbles at her waist before it rises up in her throat, where she works up the strength to talk.

"Bones," she rasps—her voice is barely recognizable. It sounds like the husky voice of an asthmatic. Peculiar. "Bones," she tries again with a desperate wheeze.

Bones's facial expressions shift like a deck of cards being shuffled until it falls on a desperately concerned hand. He's on her in a heartbeat with a tricorder and a pain reliever.

The sharp sting of the hypospray is worth the weightlessness she feels in the next moment.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Sarek and T'Pau move to stand between her and Spock's biobeds with blank but no less concerned eyes. She's not sure when they moved, but she's delighted to see them up close and personal all the same. Her fingers flex towards them weakly, as though she were attempting to reach for them.

Sarek's dark eyes look severely troubled while T'Pau remains observantly silent. The lecture he wants to give is clear in the way he holds himself and his shoulders.

"Your fever's still high," Bones mutters unhappily as he studies her scans on the biofunction monitor above her head. He reaches somewhere out of her sight and before she can make sense of it, he's swabbing at her damp forehead with a cool cloth and she sighs as she leans into it. Her brain still feels like it's sloshing wetly in the confines of her skull while her eyes burn hot in her sockets. She blinks and her lashes clump together thickly with her tears. Her eyes are so sensitive. "Too high. I should sedate you so you can sleep it off and reduce it."

"No," Jim groans as she grabs his wrist. His hazel eyes lower and there's a million things in them that he doesn't dare verbalize in the presence of T'Pau and Sarek. He wants to fight her about this, she knows. His scowl is curling into a specific set of vowels and nouns and she has to stop him before he starts to rant. She goes on to say, "What happened?" She pauses to catch her breath—it's so fucking hard to breathe. There's fluid sitting on her chest, she can feel the weight and thickness of it as she breathes and speaks. "What's—wrong with—me?" she pants as her lungs bottom out from the lack of air, sending her pulse skyrocketing and her equilibrium goes askew. Her line of sight scatters in an array of black and white spots. The tips of her fingers and toes prickle, and she feels like she might throw up.

Sarek's shoulders tenses and he glares coldly at Bones as though it might be his fault that Jim is suffering in such away.

Bones ignores him and mutters rough and low as he presses the pads of his fingers against the screen of her biofunction monitor. His calloused and confident hand moves up, down, side, over, over, twist and up again like a skilled music composer. His hazel eyes search quietly and Jim opens her mouth to complain about the lack of his attention like a brat.

"Hush child," T'Pau chastises, beating her to it. She looks vaguely amused at the way Jim's mouth slumps childishly. "You have no energy to communicate. The logical thing to do would be to cease."

"She will not listen," Sarek comments firmly as he continues to glare coldly at her CMO while he clasps his hand behind him. He ceases the scornful gaze for a moment in order to study Jim with an uneasy furrow of his brow. "She has remarkable stubbornness. It is indeed puzzling."

Jim gives them an exasperated look before she turns her attention back to Bones and lifts her eyebrows expectantly when she notices that she has his full attention again. She's too winded to ask him what's wrong as he twirls his medical tricorder over her chest.

Bones sighs wearily as he lowers his device long enough to say, "You have acute hypersensitivity pneumonitis caused by a bad brush with a few uncategorized mountain ticks." He takes the time to adjust the top half of her bed so that she's sitting up with help. He then lifts her arms so she can see the red spots marking up her skin. "I got rid of all the ones trying to bury themselves into your muscle ligaments with a form of ampicillin—but unfortunately, since your allergic to practically goddamn _everything_, it's given you urticarial, which is accelerating the nasty fever you've got. I'm trying to counter it all but I can't do anything for the pneumonia besides give you artificial oxygen."

"Fucking _hives, _Bones—you know—I hate—that," Jim rasps with effort as she gives a wet cough and begins to gasp. The asthmatic tremor quaking her lungs is unmistakable and she feels her lips go a bit blue as spots dances before her eyes.

"Language, James," T'Pau gently reprimands but her eyes darken with her disquiet and she seems more concerned with the way Bones spits out an incoherent curse and retrieves an oxygen mask for Jim.

Jim presses her hive-covered hand over Bones's and greedily sucks in the cool moist air as Bones gently lifts her head in order to accommodate the strap of the mask. She listens to Bones's instructions to take it easy and breathe in and out, nice and slow, there you go, and that's better right? He presses his cool fingers along the sides of her ribcage, seeming satisfied with the way her chest is expanding and deflating at a more normal pace.

Bones's eyes dart up to the biofunction monitor and he sighs in reprieve before he says, "Jesus, kid—you're gonna give us all a heart attack if you keep that up. Just shut your yap for a bit and rest. It's going to take some time for us to fight all that infection out of your body."

Jim glares at him, and just to spite, she pants, "What—_happened?"_

"We found you two just in time, that's what happened," Bones mulishly explains. He looks like he wants to roll his eyes at her. "Spock is fine, but you were the one in bad shape. That cave you were in was riddled with nifty little parasites that didn't much care for Vulcan blood so much as yours. They flocked to you in a heartbeat—didn't much help that you were soaking wet either. It was touch and go for a moment, then you just—leveled off, all on your own and that left me to do the rest."

"By the service of Yeomen Rand, we were made aware of the unwarrantable circumstance," Sarek goes on to clarify. The displeasure and irritation is not at all concealed this time. "I was able to locate Spock through the connection we share, and by default, you as well. It has been three days since we have found you."

Jim frowns and merely sighs, breath fogging up her hard plastic oxygen mask. Her fingers flex against it before she clutches it more tightly.

"I then performed a meld with my son, and through his memories I was able to understand how the situation occurred as it did," Sarek continues as his shoulders tenses further with his discontent. "The exact whereabouts of Sefor and Kovar remains fairly unknown but it matters little—they are out of our reach."

Jim's lips purse as her eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

"Four thousand Vulcans have disbanded and moved to the North Mountains in hopes to create a force of their own which follows the customs of the old religion," T'Pau states as her brows remain furrowed in agitation and disapproval. "There now remains six thousand in our camps—this is all we have left to rebuild. The Vulcan Council has decided to revoke all logic and the way of Surak in order to begin again on the terms of their choosing."

"They believe our willingness to accept and congregate with other worlds has weakened us and made us vulnerable. They believe we are the ones that have been compromised," Sarek states. "They have denounced their allegiance to Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets. And have made a vow to keep peace with us, but we are not to go into their territory unless we have made plans to accept the old religion and become one of their tribe. This—is the alternative to death."

"Death?" Jim echoes in indignation. "They—would kill—their own kind—for the sake of—upholding irrational beliefs?"

"It matters little to them it seems, they feel this is the correct path," T'Pau replies stiffly. "_And we shall flee into our father's bosom, and his many daughters will provide. Our kinsman will know the peace as we once did, and all lost to us shall be regained anew. By blood and fire and faith, we will be suzerains. So is the promise of the god of the mountains and the goddesses of water and earth,_" she quotes as she lifts her gaze to a point unknown. "I have been forced to take up the mantle of leadership, and I felt it wise that we move our camps as far away from the North Mountains as possible. They have already taken too many of our people and our children in this senseless campaign of deficient paradoxes."

Jim is disquieted by this information. It builds another slate of nausea on an already growing pile, and she feels sad.

"Despite what can be said, they were not forced. It was their choice to go," Sarek explains placatingly. "We can not keep those who had no wish to stay. They would only run off into the night. It is an unfortunate thing, but a truth nonetheless."

"But what—will you do—now?" Jim asks as her fingers flex against her oxygen mask.

"Now that the camps are fully separated, we will make preparations to disband to the Southern Mountains and build our cities in its shadows," T'Pau says as her eyes lower to Jim once more and she doesn't miss the unhappy face Jim's sporting. "Fret not, James. In time, we will heal from this wound as well. We recognize the fundamental hardships that may sometime accost us in life. We are a strong people."

Jim grumbles behind her mask and it fogs up. She doesn't doubt this fact the least—but it doesn't make the whole deal less shitty.

Bones snorts before he tosses her a look as he stabs her with another hypo and takes her pulse. He grips the inside of her wrist gently as he keeps his gaze on his watch with a thoughtful frown.

Jim blinks tiredly with a frown. Her vision begins to shrink out, and she knows without knowing that Bones (the sneaky bastard) gave her a sleeping sedative. "Spock—is—alright?" she rasps weakly.

"His healing trance is taking longer than anticipated, but he will regain consciousness in a few hours," Sarek plainly states as his gaze softens. "He is expected a full recovery. This is—amiable."

"Good," Jim breathes around a weak smile and fights against the weight of her exhaustion and the heaviness of her eyelids.

It comes to a point where she can hear her own pulse rattling around in her ears with a _swish, swish, swish_. She feels weightless—like a small feather floating on top of a sea of oil. Her hand sinks down to the bed and she grips the sheets in fear that she might float up and through the ceiling and out into space.

But perhaps it wouldn't be so bad—so many pretty stars out there—worse ways to die really.

Her eyes roll back slowly as her thick lashes brush her pink cheeks in twitching kisses. Even under the influence of her fatigue, she is still aware of her surroundings, and can hear voices.

"Perhaps it would be best if we wait to tell her the rest," Sarek murmurs. "She will be displeased."

"It is exceedingly probable that it will upset her," T'Pau agrees with no real inflection. "She was fond of the young child. It is unclear how she will respond."

"Jim has the most wanton pattern of engaging herself in perilous conditions. I fear this will be no different," Sarek replies. "It is not my desire to see her come to harm."

"Nor is it mine, my son—but it is not within our control," T'Pau decides. "The paramount sequence of action would be to confer the information to Spock. James is his to protect—his knowledge of the circumstance will ensure this."

"Indeed."

Jim knows no more as she slips into the vacuum of her fatigue. If she were fully conscious, she would be annoyed.

Just what is that all about?

888

Jim dreams of catching fireflies.

She dreams of a sun that's resting on its side on the seams of the horizon like a glowing orange slice. She dreams of a field of tall grass and wheat under an endless starry night sky with a moon that sits heavy and full like a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream. She dreams that she has a small glass jar filled with a handful of the glowing bugs. There's no top for the jar but the fireflies don't try to escape. She's wearing a coconut brown bikini and a gold necklace connected belly chain with her hair down.

It's peaceful.

It's quiet.

It's lonely.

It ends.

Jim wakes with a wet cough and fluttering eyes. Her chest still feels heavy but her skin isn't burning with an itch. She lifts her arms to take a gander and is glad to find that her tan skin is completely smooth and clear, despite the brown freckles that have always been there. She presses the controls on the side of the biobed until it shifts into a seated position, and she tugs her oxygen mask under her chin. She ignores the fact that she's still wheezing in order to look around. Her blue eyes don't make it far around the sickbay before they tack onto Spock, who is conscious and sitting in a chair near the left end of her biobed. She scans him quickly, and when she sees that he looks as young and spry and expressively vacant as he did when they first met, she lets the grip she has on her sheets relax.

"Spock," Jim rasps wetly. She takes a moment to swallow dryly and catch her breath. "All good?"

"I am fairing better than you it seems," Spock notes with a dissatisfied furrow of his brow. "You have been incapacitated for fourteen days, and still have yet to recover completely." His mouth slumps in a way that means he has more he wants to say but he carefully refrains from saying it. The silence chases a frown across his mouth before his lips retire into a grim line and his shoulders lower with slight resignation. "Fourteen days is deplorable, even by human standards," he comments in a rhetorical manner as his hands curl into fists on top of his thighs before he relaxes them.

It's kinda cute—his concern.

Jim snorts, which of course triggers a series of wet coughs, leaving her gasping for air. She doesn't put her oxygen mask on because it's an annoying little thing and she doesn't like it. She waits until her chest has settled down enough and says, "That long—huh? How long have—you been—awake?"

"Most of those days," Spock answers and he looks troubled. His fingers twitch against his thighs and his gaze wanders up to the biofunction monitor hanging over her head. His deep cinnamon eyes becomes searching. "Doctor McCoy permitted me momentary visits," he confesses in a distracted manner. "He disliked my presence and felt that I no longer needed to linger if I were fully recovered. My father visited as well, yet Doctor McCoy did not chase him away—curious, but not unsurprising. He appears to be intimidated by him."

"You sat with—me while I was—asleep?" Jim waits for the slight nod he gives. She watches him for a moment and wonders quietly what he's looking at since he's yet to turn his gaze away from the readings of her biofunction monitor. "How boring—sitting with me," she sighs, if only to hide how flattered and grateful she really is for that. "It must have—been dreadful."

"I can not comprehend what you mean," Spock murmurs with a thoughtful tone as his gaze finally drops down to her blue eyes. "You had many visitors. They did not mind your lack of consciousness any further than I did." He eyes darken in contemplation as he stares at her with quiet intensity. "Were are roles reversed, you would have done the same with little complaint."

Jim doesn't deny that. She says, "Fourteen days—though. Long time to—be asleep. I guess I—just have a—pension for—these things. At this rate—I'll have to go for—the record."

"Jim, please do not attempt to make light of the situation," Spock implores with a barely perceptible frown. His mouth slouches grimly as his eyes drift back up to her biofunction monitor. His body is taut with his upset. "You have developed an upper respiratory infection that has impaired the oxygen flow of your limbs."

"I'll be—fine. Nothing's gonna get—amputated or—anything," Jim rasps with a meager frown, feeling a little thrown. She's not used to this much blatant concern from her stoic First Officer. It's—certainly something. "Don't worry—about me."

Spock straightens in his seat as his gaze turns off to some unknown corner. He says, "Your hands, feet, and lips are a disconcerting shade of blue and purple. I do not like it."

"You calling me—ugly?"

Spock looks at her sharply. "Your humor is unwise."

"Yeah, well—so is your—face."

Spock's eyes shift away slowly to the side, then up to the ceiling, and then back down to her.

Jim blinks before she smiles and with a breathless laugh, she says, "Did you really—just—roll your—eyes at me?"

"Vulcans do not '_roll their eyes_', Captain," Spock carefully corrects, and the corners of his mouth fidgets in displeasure.

"Whatever. I know—what I—saw," Jim wheezes. She lifts her hands and looks at them. She can see her veins through the skin of her arms and finds that her First Officer is correct. She is blue and purple. She exhales heavily as her shoulders sag in annoyance. "Do you ever just—hate your—genetic makeup?"

"That would be illogical, Jim," Spock remarks lightly, seeming perplexed by the direction of the conversation.

"Pretend that—it's not illogical," Jim says hoarsely as she rolls her eyes. But she smiles and clarifies, "I hate that—I am allergic to—everything."

"It is unfortunate," Spock blithely concurs, as his dark gaze remains steady. There is a brief moment when his eyes flick down to the oxygen mask resting under her chin before he returns them to her blue eyes.

"I like strawberries and cherries—but of course—I can't even—eat them," Jim comments with an idle sigh. "Between—you and me—I do it anyway—sometimes."

Spock lifts an eyebrow and says, "This is not unexpected. You have a habit of undertaking such behaviors. I see the cause behind Doctor McCoy's general grief over the well-being of your anatomy."

"No," Jim rasps with a wet cough, and it takes her a long while before she has the strength to finish her sentence. "Don't say—such horrible—things, Mr. Spock. Bones—is a menace—to my body."

"I am certain he would disagree."

"You're—supposed to be—on my—side!"

"Are you speaking hypothetically?" Spock questions with an innocently blank tenor and does nothing when Jim sticks out her tongue at him. "You are childish."

Jim doesn't _even _care. She makes at face at him before she looks down at her hands and wiggles her fingers. "Blue and purple. There's a—nursery rhyme—about this, I—know it." When she looks back up, Spock is quietly watching her. "Come here. I can't—really—" She pauses with a frown and points to her dry throat. If he were closer, she wouldn't have to speak so loud. It's grating the inner walls of her throat in an uncomfortable way. "Just come—closer."

Spock stands and approaches her, but does little else besides keeping his hands down at his sides as his shoulders sit in an expectant line.

"Closer than—that. You can—sit," Jim gutturally assures. He hesitates until she says, "Just sit—I won't—gut you or anything. But I will—nag," and he does sit, but not before he hesitates a little more. He's perched on the edge of her bed at her waist and his dark eyes are riddled with quiet thoughts and one-sided conversations she knows must be going on in that analytical brain of his. She says, "You're grandmother—likes me, you know."

"I am conscious of this." Spock appears to be slightly amused by this sudden shift of conversation. "I am to understand that you have met her under a rather precarious social blunder."

Jim flushes so quickly that she could almost be mistaken for a thermometer. "For the love of—" She exhales sharply and slaps her hands over her face, hiding her hideous blush from view.

"Shame is pointless," Spock carefully states, but damn it, Jim knows that he is silently laughing at her. "I am not silently laughing at you." Did she think that out loud? "Yes."

Jim groans.

"I must reiterate," Spock remarks. "Your embarrassment is unneeded. T'Pau understands that you are unacquainted with our societal etiquette."

"I don't care—it's still—so—mortifying," Jim rasps as her embarrassment chases a dark flush down the back of her neck and onto her chest. Why did T'Pau have to tell Spock about that? "God—that was one less—flaw you needed to—know about. Let me die."

"Your shortcomings will seldom make a difference in my estimation of you," Spock amends with a voice that says he is confused as to why she would think so. Curious. "Your anxiety in that aspect is unwarranted."

"Of _course _you—can say that—you're perfect."

"I do not believe so."

"I do."

Spock gives a considerable pause.

Jim flushes harder. "That's not—I—didn't mean it—how it came out. I mean I did but—like—not—" She forcibly shuts her mouth because she's just digging a deeper hole for herself. She would not _even _mind if she swallowed her own tongue that very moment and sunk into the floor in a whiff of smoke like the green witch from the Wizard of Oz movie.

"No one is perfect," Spock continues after a while. His tone seems lighter now. "Not even I."

"Regardless. If your people didn't—like me before—they definitely—don't after that. And they—shouldn't—I suck."

"Jim," Spock says in a mildly chastising manner.

"No."

"Please remove your hands from your face."

"Let me—die."

"You have no cause to hide."

"Have you—seen the color of—my face? I'm—a tomato, I have—every reason."

"You are not a vegetable," Spock patiently corrects, though he sounds slightly exasperated.

"Yes I am."

"Jim, you are behaving unreasonably. Please withdraw your hands from your face and act your age."

Jim grumbles but drops her hands as her lips scrunch in a frustrated scowl. She's still as red as a pepper, but she's trying to relax. Her thick lashes are a bit wet with her humiliation, which makes things worse. She avoids Spock's piercing eyes.

"It was not my intention to upset you," Spock watchfully explains. His dark eyes are studying her pink cheeks with unconcealed curiosity—like he's taking note of her reaction for further reference. After she presses her knuckles to the unhappy shape of her pink mouth, he continues, "Societal etiquette is something all Vulcans are required to learn. We do not hold humans accountable for their communal blunders. It would be invalid."

"Stop trying—to make me—feel better," Jim mutters against the knuckles of her right hand. She sighs and shakes her head. "T'Pau—will just have to—school me."

"You wish to learn?" Spock queries with an inquisitive frown.

Jim looks at him and nods silently. "I—want to be—better at—communicating with—all species." She takes a moment to catch her breath and swallow. "I am—a Captain. I should know—how to do—these things. I want to."

Spock says nothing for a while, and his eyes darken with his pensiveness. He says, "If this is what you wish—then I shall endeavor to offer my assistance in that aspect as well. I am familiar with many societal customs for a variety of species. It is something we are taught in our youth during our education at the Vulcan Science Academy. I will relay what I know to you, should you request it."

Jim's shoulders slouch as her face cools into its normal shade. She nods with wordless thanks when she understands that his offer is a serious one. They sit in a comfortable silence, allowing the pings and whirrs of the sickbay do the talking, before she says, "So what—has been happening—since I've been—snoozing?"

Spock doesn't answer right away. He spends a moment studying her hands and feet before he silently eyes the readings of the biofunction monitor above her head with a considerate neutral expression. Finally, his gaze drifts back down as he carefully clutches the front of her oxygen mask and places it over her nose and mouth. Holding it there, he eventually responds, "Nothing of note. Though the rebuilding of _Nu Shi'Kahr_ has commenced. The Katric Ark was finished in under ten days, and what little could be preserved was incorporated into its core. It is fortunate that my father obtained the whole of Surak's _katra_ and implemented it into the designated polycrystalline vessel. Others have volunteered to employ their ancestral _katras _in efforts to restore the Katric Ark to its former acclamation in the wake of our people and council's parting."

"So you—heard about the—whole separation," Jim rasps as she looks at him for any signs of dismay. She sees something flicker in his dark gaze before it distinguishes.

"My father and grandmother clarified," Spock tersely responds as his shoulders tense. "It is—unfortunate."

Jim knows there is more that he isn't saying. "Kinda feels—like my parents—got divorced. It makes my heart—ache. Do you think—that's normal?"

Spock looks down at his pale hand and at the fog of her mask. He says, "We posses a connection that may be influencing your opinion on the matter. Though I am not doubtful that the whole of your feelings is your own. You are empathetic at times."

"Bad thing?"

"I would not think so."

Jim hums thoughtfully. "What I feel—feels like what I felt—when Vulcan died. That hurt—like this too."

Spock's mouth shifts into a solemn line and his eyes darken in guilt. "Forgive me, Captain—it was my intention to make you aware, only, there was never a proper time," he says.

Jim frowns and looks at him expectantly.

"Since we are bonded, you posses a fraction of my ancestral _katra_. It is what links a Vulcan family together and distinguishes the bloodlines from all others. You share in this distinction now," Spock clarifies. "You are kin of the S'chn T'gai."

Jim inhales sharply as her mind warps itself around this new bit of information. It confuses her at first before it makes her feel warm in ways she doesn't understand, until all she feels is curiosity and wonder. Then, very quietly, she requests, "Say it again."

Spock furrows his brow and the question is obvious by this gesture.

"Your surname," Jim clarifies under the hard plastic of her mask. "Say it again."

Spock falters, but he repeats, "S'chn T'gai."

"S'kun T'guy," she tries.

Spock's mouth twitches, and he says, "That is not the proper enunciation."

"Well—go slower next—time," Jim fusses with an affronted pout.

"S'chn. T'gai."

"S'khun T'gee."

Spock's lifts a brow, eyes darkened with humor, and he repeats, "_S'chn T'gai._"

"I said that," Jim argues hoarsely.

"You did not," Spock corrects in passively tolerant tone. "_S'chn T'gai._"

"_S'chn T'gai_," Jim drawls, borderline mockingly, but she gets it right this time. "What does it—mean?"

"Fruit of the red sand," Spock describes.

"I like it," Jim decides breathlessly. "I always—wondered about—that. I never—saw it in your—files."

"It is not something we share outside of our own people," Spock admits. "You are an exception given the circumstance."

"I feel—special already," she says with a smile. "I promise—not to go—running my mouth about it."

"I had not suspected you would," Spock corrects and gives her an indecipherable look.

Quiet seeps in again and Jim wiggles her toes before she says, "You know—I can—hold my oxygen—mask myself."

"I am aware," Spock merely states. "But I do not doubt that once I cease keeping it in place, you will remove it. I would rather you did not deprive yourself of the oxygen you require."

Jim grins and she's not entirely sure why. It might have something to do with the fact that Spock seems to be learning her very well and very quickly. Something about that makes her happy. "How is—Yeomen Rand?" she asks and coughs wetly.

"Yeomen Rand is in good health," Spock calmly assures. "He has, however, been yet another of your constant visitors. He is relatively concerned—among other things." His dark gaze flicks over to her bedside and stays there.

Jim frowns curiously and when she looks to see what has caught his attention, she notices that there are a plethora of bouquets of exotic flowers resting on the bedside table. "He—did he—are these—"

"I believe he is attempting to court you," Spock remarks and if Jim weren't paying attention she would have missed the fragment of amusement in his stoic voice. "Doctor McCoy appears to disapprove."

Jim sighs and shakes her head. "Well Doctor McCoy—is almost as insufferably—overprotective as a mama bear with—her little baby—cubs," she rasps and inhales sharply. There's more she wants to say about the subject but she knows it would not be very appropriate at the moment. She leans back and Spock lets go off the oxygen mask to allow her to before he stands. She readjusts the mask more comfortably before she sighs once more. She feels tired. "So tell me the—bad news."

Spock cocks his head in inquiry and clasps his hands behind him.

"You have—bad news—I know," Jim rasps. "I can—read it in your—shoulders."

Spock lifts an eyebrow, but he does not comment. He shifts his gaze away before he says, "T'Khut is missing. She has been missing for an extended period time."

Jim inhales sharply as her pulse spikes with her distress. "How _long_?" she hisses.

"Jim, you must calm—"

"Tell me," Jim growls around a particularly grueling cough. "Please."

"Eleven point three days," Spock concedes. "Approximately the same time the Vulcan Council and it's counterparts dispatched. Lady T'Prisu is convinced that her granddaughter's departure was not voluntary. She is troubled."

Jim's chest swells with anger until her lashes are wet with it. She clutches onto her oxygen mask and forcibly pacifies her temper so that breathing is easier for the moment. She takes a moment to think, before she decides her next plan of action. "My ribs—hurt," she lies. She turns onto her side and presents her back to Spock. "Can you—get Bones?"

Spock hesitates, but his retreat is audible.

He's absent long enough for Jim to pick herself up and disappear as quickly and as far as her numb feet will carry her. She winds through the corridors and down the turbolift until she reaches her private quarters. The first thing she does is search the top drawer of her dresser for her emergency medical stash. She tugs it free and grabs a caffeine pen before she places the end of it directly over her heart. She closes her eyes and prepares for the pain as she pushes it down until the thick needle pierces flesh and muscle and pricks at her heart.

"_Fuck,_" Jim whimpers as she tosses the pen away while her heartbeat picks up speed and pumps a surplus amount of blood throughout her body. It takes five minutes for her skin to resume its normal color and she regains the feeling in her hands and feet. She sighs and coughs wetly as she gets to work taking a quick shower under the sonic jets in the bathroom.

Jim gets out and quickly brushes her hair up into a wet bun on the crown of her head. Then she replicates some proper excursion clothes with a better-fitted pair of cleats. The last thing she does is outfit her waist with a holster that contains her phaser, tricorder, and communicator.

The door chime sounds.

Jim coughs into her fist and opens her door, gearing up for a lecture.

Spock stands on the other side of her doorway with a raised brow and he takes a moment to observe her from head to toe before he lifts his dark eyes again and gives her a pointed look.

"You absolutely cannot talk me out of going to get her," Jim stubbornly states with a set frown.

Spock merely responds, "What have you taken?"

Jim blinks, not quite expecting that, and retorts, "What makes you think I've taken something?"

"The color of your cheeks indicates elevated blood flow to your circulatory system. And your speech pattern has resumed its normal regulation," Spock states with that know-it-all tone that never fails to impress and annoy Jim.

"Caffeine shot," Jim grumbles and scrambles to say, "I know I'm only supposed to take that kind of thing under threat of hypothermia or in extreme environments of cold but this was an emergency."

"How does your chest feel?" Spock asks, ignoring everything else Jim says.

"Still heavy, but manageable," Jim admits, and ironically enough, gives a wet cough that sounds awful and feels just as bad. "Ignore that."

Spock's shoulders lower in resignation before he announces, "I am well aware of your plans. I will be joining you. This is a compromise, as I recognize that if I should ask you to forfeit this reckless quest, you will merely ignore my counsel. My presence will ensure your safety by sixty-two percent. I dislike those odds, but I will navigate them as efficiently as I can nonetheless."

Jim's eyebrows lift in surprise. "You're—coming with me?"

"I believe I have stated this."

"And this isn't some kind of crafty trick to like, I don't know, keep me from going?" Jim narrows her eyes and shoves out the door, passing him by as she looks up and down the corridor. "Bones isn't gonna spring out on me with a sedative is he?"

"An interesting notion, but a fruitless concern," Spock says as he turns and faces her while her door swishes close behind him. "He is aware of our plans, and he is irate with the both of us, but per my advice, has decided not to interfere."

"What? You mean he _listened_ to you when you told him to stay out of it?" Jim exclaims skeptically as she begins to walk backwards toward the turbolifts.

"Not in those terms, but yes," Spock coolly returns as he follows. "Although, he requested I keep you safe or he will, in his words, 's_kin me alive and wear me like a coat'_."

Jim snorts. There's the Bones she knows. She turns and presses the call button for the turbolift. Neither of them says much during the short journey to the Transporter Room, and she is vaguely surprised when she sees Rand waiting for them.

Rand smiles with genuine pleasure as she approaches him. "I'm happy to see you're well, Captain Kirk."

Jim gives him a brief smile as she climbs the steps and stands onto one of the pads.

"I took the liberty of compiling together a few essential items and equipment you might need," Rand says as he hands them both black leather canvas backpacks. "Now with yours, Captain Kirk, Commander Spock explained that you're having some trouble breathing so when I had this pack replicated, I made sure to install an oxygen system. Here's the tubes, they're connected to the core, and you stick this end in your mouth and it filters the air around you to give you the artificial oxygen you need."

"Really?" Jim says with an intrigued voice.

Rand nods and says, "It's a good thing that it's this way because you don't even have to worry about running out or anything. Also I put some protective creams in there that should dispel any hungry parasite that wants to munch away on you. Most of them are hypoallergenic—I'm told you're allergic to everything."

Jim looks at Spock sharply but his face remains impassive as he straps on his waist holster. "Not _everything_," she corrects as she turns back to Rand. "Just some things here and there."

Rand's mouth stretches out into a keen smile, and he goes on to say, "I also did the same with the protein and energy bars. Half of them are chocolate and the other half of them are apple flavored."

Jim snorts but nods gratefully. She needs to stop being so obvious about her food preferences.

"The climbing gear you need is in there too, with the gloves and an extra pair of cleats and a sleeping mat," Rand finishes. "There's more things I wanted to add but Commander Spock kind of put me on a deadline so I just crammed all the essentials in. And since he said he didn't need much of anything, I just put some medical supplies in his pack for you, and him, but mainly you. I also took what information I could gather while we went on our faux excursion and outlined the best possible routes of the mountain. Turns out there are thousands of those winding tunnels and even more caverns."

"A virtual guide?" Jim asks with a thoughtful frown. "How much of the mountains did you get outlined?"

"Enough to get you where you need to go I think," Rand supposes. "I picked up some heavy readings of stabilized temperatures and viable caverns that just so happened to coincide in the central core of the mountain—its where I think most of the nomadic Vulcans will be."

"Thanks," Jim says as she puts the backpack on. She takes a moment to test the oxygen system by putting the mouth spout in and sucks in a lungful of cool moist air. She gives Rand a thumbs-up.

Rand beams and says, "And one more important thing." He gently cups her face and tilts her head up as he leans in and kisses her.

Jim inhales in surprise at his boldness, but she opens her mouth under his and shudders when his tongue teases the roof of her mouth before sliding along her tongue, coaxing it into his mouth where he gently sucks it. She flushes with a quiet moan, and bites his bottom lip in reproach when she feels his hands wander down to the curve of her ass with a possessive squeeze.

Rand smirks against her lips before he pulls back with a happy grin. "Good luck—and come back in one piece. I have these feelings for you and stuff—I'm still trying to figure out what to do with them," he murmurs.

"Yeah?" Jim breathes as she presses her forehead against his. "So am I. And stuff."

Rand laughs as he plants one last kiss on her lips and then the corner of her left eye. He pulls away and glances at Spock with a shy flush, as though he remembers that they aren't alone and says, "Uh—I'm sorry, Commander Spock. I'm being rude—did, uh," he takes a moment to clear his throat before he goes on to say, "Did you want a good luck kiss too or…"

Spock stares at him for a long silent moment before he says, "That will not be necessary."

"Right. I didn't really think so, I just wanted to be—polite," Rand says with a solemn nod.

Jim hits his shoulder and nods to the transport console. "Stop propositioning my First Officer and go make yourself useful," she instructs.

Rand turns back to Jim with a wink and a grin, and makes his way over to the console. He sets the coordinates that she tells him to before he looks up at them expectantly.

Jim takes a deep breath before she says, "Energize."

They end up at the base of the mountain and no further than that. It's a start, considering things. And they don't prepare themselves until after Jim preps her skin with all manner of creams and lotions (just for precautions sake).

She begins to put on her climbing gear and allows Spock to check the sturdiness of it before they begin the climb. She goes first (upon the insistence of Spock) and pulls herself up, taking pauses to stick the mouthpiece of her oxygen system between her lips and sucks in the cool moist air until she doesn't feel dizzy or winded anymore.

They make it to their designated checkpoint a little after midnight, mainly because of her stubborn determination.

Jim is sore and tired by the time they settle down against the wall of a wide cliff. She spreads out her sleep mat and lays on it with a sigh as she devours two protein bars. Then she watches Spock's illuminated face peer down at the screen of his PADD and the virtual display of the mountain. Before she can stop herself, she says, "I'm worried about you."

Spock pauses and looks at her with an inquisitive frown.

"Sarek and T'Pau said that the Vulcan Council specifically stated that if any Vulcan should venture into their territory—they would have to like, pledge their allegiance or something. There was something else about pain of death, possibly? I'm trying not to think about it—even though I can't help but to remember the fact that you were almost a sacrifice if I hadn't dragged myself along on your little faux excursion," Jim clarifies as she stuffs the wrappers in her backpack and lays back down. She curls up on her side and continues to watch him. "I don't want them to be successful this time—and I swear I wanted to leave you behind so bad but I knew you wouldn't let me. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy you're here, but. I'm more worried something will happen to you, and it will be my fault because I couldn't leave well enough alone."

"Your concern is unneeded. I will be fine," Spock unemotionally declares before he turns his gaze back to his PADD as if the subject is just that simple.

"Can you promise that?"

"Not exceedingly."

Jim snorts and closes her eyes. "Well—I think that when this is all over—you should find a nice Vulcan woman and settle down. Have cute little pointy-eared babies and what not."

"It is not my wish to '_settle down_'," Spock responds dully as the line of his shoulders tighten. It is obvious that he is uncomfortable with this topic.

Jim presses anyway. She's curious. "Why not? I thought you were the settling type."

"It matters little. The women among my people find me unsuitable."

"I thought Vulcans were supposed to be smart," Jim huffs as she peeks at him with one eye. "You're many things, Spock. But unsuitable is definitely not one of them. Sure you can be pushy and a know-it-all and annoyingly passive and blandly logical and recognizably vegetarian and—"

"I find that I am missing your point."

"Well the point _is_," Jim drawls as she gets back on track. "You are a winner. It's obvious. You've got a lot of good qualities hiding away in the thickness of your eyebrows. The shape of your ears wins you awesome points alone. And that thing you do with your eyebrow—I can't even do that without getting laughed at. And you just know like a lot of things and you explain them in this really cool and impressive and annoying way—"

"You are rambling," Spock observes.

"—but for the life of me I can't understand who'd find you unsuitable," Jim continues, blatantly ignoring him. "Seriously. My opinion of Vulcans is quickly changing, and not for the better."

"Be silent, Jim," Spock mildly rebukes.

"Nope," Jim retorts cheerily with a smile and turns away from him until she's facing the rocky wall. She yawns quietly. "You know—when you find a highly intelligent woman who realizes how awesome you are—I want you two to have lots of kids, okay? Because you can never have too many kids and I'm going to need plenty of godchildren to spoil."

"You have designated yourself as godmother—as though you presume there is an equivalent of such a title in Vulcan," Spock notes with barely perceptible amusement.

"Isn't there?"

"Perhaps."

"Well I don't care either way. I'm gonna be the godmother," Jim decides with a haughty sniff. "I got Sulu to agree to let me be the godmother of his children, as well as Chekov, and Scotty, _and _Bones. Now all I have to do is convince Uhura and then I'll be all set. I'll have a complete collection of future godchildren under my thumb and I will have acquired a whole army to do my bidding."

"That is an irrational venture."

"I know, but so is your face."

Spock doesn't sigh, but Jim gets the impression he really wants to. "You are exceptionally rude."

"Like your face."

"_Captain—"_

Jim laughs and soothes him by saying, "I'm kidding. I'm sorry. I'll shut up now and sleep."

"Indeed," Spock agrees evenly.

Jim can feel his curious gaze probing away at her back. She shifts with a humored smile, and lets her senses trickle down as she relaxes under the wave of exhaustion.

_WHOOSH. WHOOSH. WHOOSH._

It's not the sound of wings that jerk Jim awake before she can fully fall asleep.

It's the strong gust of wind that follows.

She sits up quickly with a frown as her heart races. Her frown deepens when she notices that Spock is nowhere in sight. She couldn't have fallen asleep that long that he could have managed to disappear on her. She climbs to her feet and looks around as her fingers twitch in concern by her sides.

She spins around at the sound of a caw and a clatter of a rock to her immediate left. But there's nothing there.

A shadow passes overhead.

_WHOOSH. WHOOSH. WHOOSH._

She looks up and sees a sky full of ravens flying in circles overhead. They caw—one after the other—until the mountains are shaking with the reverberating sound. She steadies herself as pieces of rocks break off and fall with rolling and clattering echoes. She watches in fascinating horror as the ravens' body becomes ablaze with green fire. Then, they start diving down towards her like rain. She flinches back and presses herself against the rocky wall behind her (having nowhere else to go) and she puts her arms up to shield herself against the inevitable pain.

_WHOOSH. WHOOSH. WHOOSH._

"_Fucking _ravens!" Jim exclaims as she jerks and flails into consciousness. "_Argh!_" she hisses and turns away from the bright piercing sunlight beaming down from the sky. She groans and presses her forehead into her sleep mat as she mutters incoherently.

"Are you well, Captain?" Spock asks, from somewhere behind her.

Jim mutters and waves her hand in the direction she thinks he might be. Once she's able to get over her general confusion and see that, yes, it was a dream—she picks herself up and silently rolls her sleeping mat. She tucks it away and gets to work with rubbing down her skin with different ointments and creams, all the while grumbling to herself about freaky bird dreams. She shoves a few energy bars down her throat as she puts on her climbing gear, allowing Spock to, once again, check the sturdiness of it all.

The climb is relatively difficult this time since Jim is still sore from the previous day. Also, she can't seem to shake this growing apprehension she feels swelling up in the pit of her gut and expanding like a nauseating balloon. She doesn't voice these concerns to Spock—she's not sure how.

The press of night spreads across the late evening sky and Jim finds herself standing at the mouth of a cavern with Spock. She pulls a flashlight free and sets the phaser in her holster to stun as they enter and trek inside carefully.

Spock guides them through the tunnels based upon the sheer memory he holds from the virtual diagrams of the mountains.

Jim sticks in close behind him, and trusts his general sense of direction as she sucks away at the mouth spout of her oxygen system. The tunnel winds down and down, until the pressure of gravity forces Jim's ears to pop. They stop once in a while so that she can catch her breath, or eat, or pee.

She's not really sure how long they've been walking or descending into the bowels of the mountain, but it matters little to her because she's only anxious to see T'Khut again—safe and well.

Finally, after what could only be hours upon hours, there is a light at the furthest end of the tunnel and the sound of drums, chanting, and tortured screams.

Jim puts her hand on the handle of her phaser, as does Spock with his.

They venture closer and quietly approach the small opening. They hunch down on their hands and knees and carefully slide across the small cliff and peer over the edge into the huge chamber below filled with huts made of stones and clay. There are torches of fire and naked Vulcans with elaborate markings painted across their pale skin.

Jim would blush if she were a bit more modest; and she's not surprised when the tips of Spock's ears become a deep shade of green at the display before them.

The nomadic Vulcans below are dancing around with large masks and handmade cups filled to the rim with dark liquids that look disturbingly like blood. They are chanting with monotone voices as some pound on drums with blank expressions.

The Vulcan Council sits up high on thrones as they watch the display with stoic faces.

Jim isn't very familiar with their culture, but its not hard for her to guess that they've stumbled upon another ritual. She puts her hand on Spock's shoulder and coils her fingers into the blue fabric of his uniform shirt as she spies T'Khut sitting on a mound of burning wood and clay with her hands and feet tied, screaming in agony as the fire devours her. "Spock—" She stops short, unable to find the words to say.

Spock tenses under her hand as his line of sight focuses on the point of which she's looking.

Jim begins to shake as anger and horror swells something cold and hard in the midst of her throat. She's pushed into speechlessness as she notices a group of adolescents circling the flaming mound while they chuck rocks.

Smoke and flame continue to devour the mound and hides T'Khut from view—but her screams of pain are clear as day.

They are too high up.

They are too far away.

They wont be able to do a thing at this distance.

They are outnumbered.

How is that fair? How is that _fair?_

It's not—it's not supposed to be like this. She was going to—she was going to get T'Khut and take her home. How the fuck can this—out of all the things to happen—why this?

Jim is confused and upset and _scared_.

The group of adolescents continue to throw rocks at T'Khut's withering form as the pace of the drums picks up and practically drowns out the sound of T'Khut's weak frantic pleas, which quickly morph into incoherent gurgles.

The flame is eating away at her face now, and her long, beautiful, dark braids.

Jim puts her hand over her mouth as she bites back a sob as her stomach heaves. She's haunted by the sound and the sight—and the _smell—_dear God, the _smell_. It's unbearable. It's not something a person can forget. And she knows—she _knows_ that she will remember this for as long as she lives. Her stomach sours and turns—but she can't look away.

The flames recede and crawl back down to the base of the mound as some of the dancing Vulcans throw bowls of water onto it.

T'Khut twitches and yells in pain as the water strikes her burnt body, causing the flames sinking down into her skin to morph into vapors of steam.

_I'm sorry,_ Jim thinks desperately. _I'm so sorry—it wasn't—it wasn't supposed to be like this. I'm here—I'm right here, I was trying—I don't—_

The shouts and the moans and the incoherent gurgles stop so abruptly—and that's the worst part of it all. They just stop and everything goes silent.

T'Khut's not moving.

Jim stumbles away and goes as far and as deep into the tunnel as her feet will carry her and she doesn't know how she makes it out into the night air before she just collapses onto her knees and shudders. Her stomach jerks until she's throwing up with anguished sobs and desperate gasps. When she can't possibly vomit anything else up besides her insides, she crawls over to a boulder and leans against it as her shoulders shake. She scrubs at her mouth angrily as her eyes and throat burn. Her lashes and red cheeks are drenched in tears. She pulls up her knees and presses her trembling lips to them as Spock sits down beside her.

"_Tushah nash-veh k'odu_," Spock murmurs as she sniffs and hiccups.

Jim closes her eyes and cries quietly. She hates this feeling. It's like she's lost her footing—and she has no place to stand.

Jim cries and cries and cries and _cries_—until there is nothing left in her. Her heart waxes so cold that it's frozen and her insides are doused in rage. She looks at Spock with red eyes and says, "Take me down there."

Spock quickly stands and helps her rise to her feet when he notices that she is struggling to do it on her own.

"I don't care," Jim hisses as her knees shake and her fingers clench into fists. "I don't care what they do. I want her body. We're getting her body. I'm not leaving without it."

Spock says nothing, even as he guides her to the west, to a wet tunnel that drips noisily and winds down steeply.

Jim stumbles after him as best as she can on shaky legs. Her fury motivates the direction of her feet, even as her blue eyes swim deeply under the new pressure of tears. Her quiet little sobs are the only thing that keeps the journey down from being completely silent.

Spock's shoulders are tense the whole way and his face is as blank as she's ever seen.

Beyond the pain and the anger, she wonders quietly about how he feels and what he's thinking. She can't tell. She wants to believe that he's as upset as she is.

Jim refocuses her thoughts as they step through the end of the tunnel and out into the open chamber, approaching the nomadic Vulcans from the south end.

They stop their dancing and chanting and drumming long enough to observe them with cold black eyes.

Jim doesn't care. She marches right through the crowd and to the mound where T'Khut's burnt body still lays. She stumbles a bit as she climbs to the top and her eyes grow watery with a vengeance as she notices the shallow movement of T'Khut's charred chest.

T'Khut sounds like she is struggling to breathe.

Jim's mouth trembles as her shaky hand hovers over T'Khut in unsteadied anguish. She dare not touch the girl, if only to cause her the least amount of pain possible.

"What business do you have here, Captain James Kirk?" an elderly woman of the old Vulcan Council inquires unemotionally.

Jim lifts furious blue eyes to the old members of the Vulcan Council.

"You watch those eyes," a man warns. "We would have every right to crush you. You come unto us and among our people with little regard and respect."

"What is there to respect?" Jim snaps back. "You burn innocent children. That's something _monsters _do."

"The god of these mountains require a blood sacrifice. What is one blight compared to the continuation of a race?" another elderly woman from the council remarks coldly. "It is an honor for her to be so—as it would have been for your First Officer, if you'd willed it."

"Don't," Jim warns as her throat aches with her rage. She can feel Spock approaching her. "I'm already fucking livid—don't make it worse."

"We care little for your sympathies_, tfi-kien,_" another elderly man of the council spits. "Now leave us in peace or I will not stop my people from ripping you apart."

"I would rethink that threat," Spock coldly warns. "Harming Captain Kirk would be an incitation for war against the Federation. You would not possibly be able to meet such a challenge."

"I will not heed the useless counseling from one with tarnished blood," the stoic nomadic Vulcan says. "Take your human whore and leave this place before I follow through."

"_Ishanai ertau nasha-koyik dor," _Spock scolds angrily. "_Dungi-ri kal-tor nash._"

The nomadic Vulcan Council murmur among themselves and sneer at her First Officer in reprove.

"So be it," one of them finally speak up. "We will pardon you and your—_bondmate—_this once."

"We are being generous, son of Sarek," an elderly woman of the council states. "Take the girl if you must. She has exceeded her usefulness. The ritual has reached completion."

Jim glares at them all, angrily and spitefully.

Spock leans forward and carefully pries T'Khut's withered form from the burnt mound. His brow furrows as she gurgles in pain, but he is gracefully careful as he descends and walks silently through the parted crowd.

Jim's fingers twitch at her sides, and she wants nothing more than to take her phaser, stun the lot of them and drag their crazy illogical asses up to the brig of her ship.

The Vulcan Council and the nomadic Vulcans stare at her coldly as she retreats.

Jim looks at each and every one of them, and she files away their faces in her memory.

She will _never _forget this.

She will _never _forgive.

888

Lady T'Prisu makes a cry that shatters Jim's heart all over again when they deliver T'Khut's body to the inside of her marquee.

T'Pau and another dark-skinned woman (who Jim will later learn is Lady T'Prisu's younger sister, T'Lara) have to quickly hold Lady T'Prisu up as she starts to collapse to her knees, woefully chanting, "_Ri-nash kan. Ri-nash kan."_

Spock gently sets T'Khut's body down on the carpeted floor and moves to stand beside Jim at the mouth of the tent.

Lady T'Prisu gives another sob that comes from somewhere deep and painful as T'Pau and T'Lara ease her to her knees beside her granddaughter. "_Ri-nash kan. Ri-nash kan. Ri-nash kan,_" she weeps as she presses her forehead to T'Khut's charred one.

Jim presses the back of her hand to her trembling mouth as she bites back a hiccupping sob. She's done nothing but cry ever since they left the North Mountains, and she can't seem to stop. She turns into Spock and hides her face into his shoulder as she shudders.

Spock tenses slightly, but he wordlessly rests the hot palm of his hand against the small of her back in a brief consoling gesture before he removes it and tucks his hands behind him.

Jim sniffs and pulls back with a quiet thanks with the attempt of drying her wet cheeks with her shaky hands. She turns and watches as T'Pau and T'Lara rubs comforting circles into Lady T'Prisu's back.

Lady T'Prisu turns to T'Pau and whispers something to her before she turns away and resumes moaning woefully.

T'Pau makes a gesture to T'Lara and they both stand. She walks to Spock and murmurs something in Vulcan to him that causes his brows to furrow in concern. She looks at him sternly before she makes a gesture for T'Lara and him to exit.

They do with minimal fuss.

T'Pau turns to Jim and says, "Lady T'Prisu has requested your presence during her granddaughter's—dress."

Jim's blinks away the set of tears that have gathered in the corners of her eyes as her mouth folds down in a dreadful frown. "I don't—I don't think I can—"

"This is an honorable thing she asks," T'Pau softly explains. "Do not refuse her this one thing in the midst of her grieving." She reaches out and tucks Jim's blond bangs from her eyes. "You must be strong."

Jim says nothing as T'Pau exits. She flexes her fingers and takes a deep breath as she ventures over to a weeping Lady T'Prisu and T'Khut, who is still breathing shallowly. She eases onto her knees beside Lady T'Prisu, and waits, unsure of what to do.

"Her final moments are nigh," Lady T'Prisu says with a delicate sniff. "You must help me get her ready."

Jim nods wordlessly and helps Lady T'Prisu to her feet.

Lady T'Prisu walks over, with some difficulty, to a deep mahogany dresser. She opens the middle drawer and pulls free a set of silk dress robes the color of cherry blossoms, and is adorned with a three-symbol Vulcan insignia sown down the left side of the chest area. She hands Jim a black brush with an iron handle.

Jim helps Lady T'Prisu dress T'Khut quietly in the fine robes of silk.

Lady T'Prisu grabs a vial of oil and with closed eyes, she murmurs a prayer, "_Orfik-sasu t'nash-veh kelek_." She opens her eyes and dips her frail hands into the deep pot. Pulling her hand free, she gently caresses her oiled fingers down the soles of T'Khut's feet, saying, "_Tel-alep. Kakhartau t'khaf-spol oigen-tor_." She kisses T'Khut's charred feet reverently before she pulls back. She dips the iron brush into the pot before she hands the oil-drenched brush to Jim.

"What did you—"

"Brush her hair—" Lady T'Prisu pauses abruptly as her eyes water. "Or what little can be—seen." She shudders and gives a small sobbing moan that causes her shoulders to quake with sadness.

Jim nods and quickly wipes away the set of tears that try to fall from her own eyes. She sniffs and softly runs the brush through the tuffs of hair she can find.

Lady T'Prisu dips her hand into the pot of oil and begins sprinkling T'Khut's body up and down as she prays, "_K't'nash-veh ashau, kudau k'dular._ _K't'nash-veh ashau, kudau k'dular._" She stands and puts the oil back before she nods to Jim. "Thank you, James. I know that my granddaughter was fond of you—this will mean more than you can know to her."

Jim wordlessly nods and swallows around the lump that tries to form in her throat. Her eyes feel warm and swollen, and her chest aches as much as her stomach does.

"Please inform T'Pau that a resting shrine should be made for T'Khut," Lady T'Prisu says with a hollow voice. "She will extract her _katra_ when the sun peeks in the early morning sky. Until then—I advise you to rest, so that you will have full control over your facilities during the ceremony."

"Lady T'Prisu," Jim quietly says. "I am—so sorry. I tried. I did."

Lady T'Prisu looks at her with wet eyes before she comes close enough to touch. She places her frail hand on Jim's shoulder. "Let your heart be untroubled, child. I do not blame you. T'Khut's passing will be unfortunate—but once she is free from the pain of her body, she will join our loved ones in paradise. It is not all sorrow."

Jim bites down on her thumb and refrains from speaking out in hurt or anger. She wants to ask Lady T'Prisu how she can know this for sure. Will it really be that way for T'Khut? Will the young Vulcan find peace when she could not during her short time here?

So many doubts and questions—but no answers to appease them.

"Go now," Lady T'Prisu advises and rejoins her granddaughter on the floor. "Do as I have asked."

Jim exits the tent and relays the information to T'Pau, who frowns grimly but nods with understanding. She watches as T'Pau leaves with T'Lara to make arrangements for T'Khut's transitioning.

Spock is nowhere to be found, and she doesn't go looking for him or anyone for that matter.

She tucks herself away in her designated tent and cries until the early hours of the morning. She had already known, though, that she would find no sleep that night. Not in the wake of her anticipating T'Khut's ceremony of departure.

Jim beams aboard the Enterprise and makes a beeline for her living quarters. After a lengthy shower, she replicates a black dress with matching heels. She braids her hair into a spiraling five-strand Dutch braid and pins it with a silver clip, letting her long bangs hang in her face. She gives herself a once over in the bathroom mirror before she nods in satisfaction, feeling as ready as she'll ever be.

Her door chimes.

Jim half expects Spock or Bones, or even Rand.

But it's Uhura and Chapel, and they're dressed down in black mourning attire as well.

"Spock came to me last night and told me what happened," Uhura explains. "I think he felt like he couldn't quite provide the comfort you needed, so he was, in a subtle way, asking me to try. And well—I thought you could use a bit of female company for a while."

"Yeah," Chapel agrees with a mild grin. "Shake the men off for a while, and just—know that we're here for you. Not only as colleagues but as friends as well."

Jim smiles sadly and presses her hand to her mouth, trying to say thanks, but she chokes over the words as tears spill over her cheeks.

Chapel and Uhura close in around her and rub her back and squeeze her shoulders comfortingly.

"I'm sorry," Jim laughs wetly as she accepts the handkerchief Chapel offers her.

Uhura frowns and shakes her head. "You don't need to apologize. You need to let it all out."

Jim sobs a little. "It's hard—I don't—it just hurts. I tried—but—"

Chapel shushes her and rubs comforting circles into her back. "We should get going. The ceremony will start soon," she points out.

"Yeah," Uhura says and guides Jim along to the Transporter Room.

They beam down to the surface of New Vulcan and towards the outer edge of _Nu Shi'Kahr. _

There are hundreds upon thousands of Vulcans exiting the partially built city and the camps in order to be present during T'Khut's ceremony.

Jim sniffs and fans at her hot face while she uses her borrowed handkerchief to dry her eyes as she searches out T'Khut's body.

Uhura and Chapel press themselves on both sides of her as they make their way to the front of the crowd.

It's hard not to miss the looks they're receiving from their Vulcan counterparts, nor the murmurs.

Uhura tenses and her lips twist into a disapproving grimace.

"What?" Jim croaks in a nasally voice. She clears her throat. "What are they saying?"

"They—" Uhura falters before she sighs. "Nothing. It's nothing to worry about, Captain."

Jim feels very much like she should, but her attention is more drawn to the proceedings of the ceremony, so she leaves it alone.

Lady T'Prisu is standing with her younger sister, T'Lara, as they watch four Vulcan males in ceremonial robes of mourning, hoist T'Khut's open vine-made casket onto a bed of translucent stones. They walk away and Lady T'Prisu approaches her granddaughter with her hand coiled around T'Pau's elbow, who is wearing deep robes of red and a decorative headpiece.

Off to the side there are a few musicians strumming the chords of the Vulcan lyre on one accord.

Lady T'Prisu places her frail and trembling hand onto T'Khut's meld points. Her face goes blank and her expression is quiet.

There is an air of respectful silence throughout the crowds.

Jim's heart thrums anxiously on waves of gloom and sorrow. Her spirit falls at her feet and her blue eyes are glossy with warm tears that have yet to fall.

Lady T'Prisu falters as she pulls away and she reaches down to touch her fingers to T'Khut's charred ones in a quiet kiss goodbye. She trembles and clutches onto her younger sister, T'Lara, who tries her best to comfort her as they walk away and stand off to the side. When they stand at an acceptable distance, T'Prisu clutches the handkerchief in her hand and gives a solemn nod to T'Pau.

T'Pau lifts her hands into the air and whispers silent prayers to the sky, before she lowers them and allows her pale hands to hover by T'Khut's temples.

T'Khut's chest lifts and her mouth opens as a golden thread intertwined with gleaming particles arises and hovers.

Lady T'Prisu begins to weep silently as the essence of T'Khut's _katra _vanishes with the wind in a cloud of gold dust.

T'Khut chest falls motionless, and she is still—gone.

Jim exhales and bites down on her trembling lower lip as she hides her face into her borrowed handkerchief.

Chapel rubs her hand up and down Jim's back as she makes soothing remarks in an attempt to console her.

Uhura squeezes her shoulder the very moment a dirge is played.

Jim finds the strength to lift her head and listen to the somber lamentations. Numbly, her blue eyes shift from blank face to blank face. The cluster of Vulcan faces, as a whole, is very restrained, as they ought to be, Jim supposes.

Though she may never understand their emotional process or lack of, she knows for sure that they are not completely without sympathy or grief.

_No, _Jim thinks as she watches a fluctuations of men, women, and children lay down different shapes of vials and pots of oil, along with flowers that must have, at one time, been indigenous to Vulcan. _They aren't completely impervious to emotion._

Jim's red eyes slide over to the far right and across the way she spies Spock standing in black robes with his hands tucked behind him. His mouth is folded into a grim line and his brow is furrowed, but other than that, his expression is unreadable.

"Come on," Uhura murmurs as she shuffles Jim away and steals her attention. "Let's get you something to eat."

Chapel throws her arm over Jim's small shoulders. "I know _just _the place to get some grub. It's a little under the table, but it's fine just the same."

The trek to the human camp is a short one.

Jim is mildly curious as to where Chapel is leading them, but it all becomes slightly clear when she hears Scotty's voice float from the Mess tent.

"_Aye! I've got Striker down for two-fifty credits. Dane, what've you got there? Good. And Sprewell—ah no Jett, you're out for the count lad, you've got no more to bet!_"

Chapel tugs Jim through the flaps and she in turn pulls Uhura along.

Scotty is standing in the middle of the Mess tent on a table with his red uniform shirt tied around his head like a turban. He's got a pencil tucked behind his right ear as his left hand holds a small notebook while the other points out into the crowd of rowdy male officers.

Jim lifts an eyebrow as Chapel grins and gestures to someone that's across the tent. Before she can even blink, she's being shoved into a seat in front of Scotty with a breakfast turkey sausage corndog on a stick and a strawberry syrup packet.

Scotty beams when he notices her but then his expression folds into something like guilt. "Ah—good morning, Captain. I just want to apologize and offer my condolences. I heard what happened—well I suppose we all have but," he pauses and glances around. "Listen—I understand what this must all look like but I guarantee that it's not what you think."

"It looks like your running some kind of underground betting ring with cards," Jim says, ignoring everything else he said. She tears open the strawberry syrup packet with her teeth and squeezes a pea-size amount onto the top of her corndog. She lifts it to her mouth with eagerness.

"Nope—I've been warned about that," Uhura says as she snatches the corndog from her hand.

"Hey—"

"_Corn _syrup," Uhura interjects as she gives Jim a new corndog and a corn syrup packet. She starts to eat Jim's strawberry covered corndog. "It's not like your allergies are a secret. Stop pouting."

"I'm _not _pouting," Jim mutters stubbornly as she tears open the packet with her teeth, grumbling all the while she squeezes the clear liquid onto her corndog. "Who have you even been _talking _to about that?"

"Don't worry about. I'm saving us both from a lecture."

Jim just grumbles and chews before she narrows her eyes at Scotty.

Scotty laughs nervously and bats his notebook at her as though he were shooing away a fly. "I would've let you eat it, and I wouldn't have cared. With a will like yours—you'd probably bounce back."

Jim snorts. "Why are you spearheading a gambling ring?"

"What? _Gambling?_" Scotty puts a hand to his cheek in a sorry attempt of looking innocent. "Who's ever heard of such a thing really?"

"You can drop the act, Scotty. I don't care," Jim says as she chews. "I want in. Put me on a table. Poker or Spades?"

"Either one," Scotty says with that amusing face of astonishment he always gets about him when he's baffled by something. "You're choice."

"Spades," Jim decides as she swallows. "How high can I bid?"

"Nothing over three hundred—had to learn my lesson with that one," Scotty admits and scribbles her name down in his small notebook. He moves back and stands upright on the table. "Alright you sodding sad lot—I've got Captain Kirk down for three hundred credits. You know what that means right? That means that _you _all are a bunch of pathetic cowards. Who wants to go on her table, I need three more?"

There's an excited male roar amongst her officers and they all raise their hands.

Jim laughs and shakes her head. She almost feels bad because none of them realize what they're getting themselves into. She turns to Uhura, who is sitting beside her with an amused frown. "Be my partner," she requests.

Uhura sighs and rolls her eyes, but she concedes. "I want half of your winnings," she warns as they move to a table with two guys.

"Deal," Jim easily agrees.

That's how she spends the rest of the day, dominating the tables with Uhura as Chapel cheerleads and shoves more food into her hands (Uhura watching very closely to be sure it's not anything she's allergic to).

All in all, it's not the most creative way to spend the majority of her day, but it keeps her heartache at bay.

For the moment, that's enough.

888

Jim makes a solid case and after _three days_ of waiting for a _response_—they say _no_.

"He voted no," Admiral Barnett carefully corrects from the other end of the view screen. His brown eyes skate to Spock, who was standing beside her in her Captain's Ready Room, then back. "The deliberation could have gone deeper, I admit—but ultimately Admiral Marcus felt that it would be toeing a thin line."

"Toeing a line? Admiral Barnett, they are murdering children. Innocent children," Jim points out and she thought that _Fleet Admiral _Marcus would at least agree. "Tell me that's not grounds for a sanction."

"I'm not telling you because I agree, however, Admiral Marcus feels that we have larger issues to absolve," Admiral Barnett says. "He thinks that by giving you permission to try the nomadic Vulcans would put us in a bad position, and he doesn't want to satisfy the emotional whims of a female captain—no matter if she's our youngest and brightest. It's religion—and you know we don't and can't touch that. Unless they kill one of our own—it's fair game."

"But they did! Commander Spock and I—"

"Are alive and well, as far as Admiral Marcus is concerned," Admiral Barnett calmly interrupts. "Until it becomes otherwise, he's not so much bothered. While he feels that the separation and the deaths are unfortunate—it's not quite our business until they want to make it ours. And—it seems they've distanced themselves from us which has solidified Admiral Marcus's ultimate decision on the matter."

Jim makes a face of disgust. "This isn't what I signed onto Starfleet for," she snaps. "To turn the other cheek in situations like that."

Admiral Barnett gives her a measuring sympathetic look. "Jim—sometimes you have to pick your battles. This is one you'll have to concede."

Jim shakes her head and crosses her arms angrily. "It's not right."

"It's politics—and you have to think about how it may look for us to intercede in that kind of affair, especially when they are on the verge of extinction," Admiral Barnett says. "But onto lighter subjects—I'll be sending another ship since I understand that the completion _Nu Shi'Kahr _is well on its way."

"Affirmative," Spock answers when Jim refuses to. "As we are presently nearing the end of September, the city will have reached completion by the middle of December, should you provide us with additional support."

"That I will," Admiral Barnett confirms. "After everything is arranged, they should be there in four days."

Jim nods curtly.

Admiral Barnett's face disappears just as the link dies.

Jim lets out a cry of frustration and kicks her chair before she turns away and scrubs at her eyes. "This sucks," she mutters as she exhales. "I just—this isn't _fair_."

Spock says nothing, and that is not the least bit helpful.

"What do you think?" Jim asks as she turns to him with deep frown. "About all of this? Do you think they were right?"

"I believe it matters little, my opinion," Spock states blankly. "It will in no way alter Admiral Marcus's decision."

Anger blooms and spreads across Jim's chest and stalls her tongue. She stands for a full two minutes just _staring _at Spock. Then she drops her forehead into her hand and laughs furiously as she shakes her head. "I have never wanted to choke you more," she mutters. She lifts her head and glares at him. "That wasn't even an answer. God—can't you pretend to have some kind of emotion on the matter for a good five seconds instead of pretending like you could care less."

"I was relatively sure of what the outcome would be, and Admiral Barnett merely confirmed my hypothesis," Spock curtly retorts. His lips fold into a grim line. "Were our numbers of a larger quantity, Admiral Marcus would have felt differently on the matter. Yet, it is as Admiral Barnett has stated. My people and our affairs are of little concern to Admiral Marcus in light of the impeding war with the Romulans and Klingons. In light of our dwindling numbers and lack of involvement in the war, we have superseded our usefulness."

Jim anger cools into guilt and she feels properly chastised.

"Captain Kirk, you mistake my lack of empathy for negligence, when it is quite the opposite. I am highly upset by this mistreatment, but I prefer not to dwell on the subject when my anger can offer no further solution to the issue than maintaining my silence would," Spock clarifies as his dark eyes pin her to the spot. "I do not wish to discuss this any further. I must insist that you respect that." He turns and exits without awaiting her response.

"Wait," Jim calls and watches as he pauses in the doorway. "I'm sorry. I was being inconsiderate and letting my anger get the best of me. I'm still kind of grieving T'Khut and—look, I'm sorry. Please don't be upset with me. I don't like when you are."

Spock's shoulders relax partially and he says, "I do not mean to be upset. Nonetheless, you have the uncanny ability to solicit such distasteful emotional responses. It is quite vexing."

Jim scrunches her nose in guilt and bites down on her thumb. "Sorry?" she tries again.

Spock turns and studies her for a long moment before he exits wordlessly.

Jim sighs and jogs after him. "Where are you going?" she asks as she joins him on the turbolift.

"My grandmother has requested my presence," Spock answers in monotone. He's not looking at her and she knows he's still a bit upset with her. "She made no specification as for the reason. I suspect she wants to bestow me with a gift, since it is currently the 25th of September."

"Gift? Why?" Jim asks before she leans forward and eyes him. He still doesn't look at her. "Is it your birthday today?"

"No," Spock merely states, and says nothing further.

Jim makes an exasperated noise as they step off the turbolift and head to the Transporter Room. "Well then why would she want to give you a gift?"

"Today dictates the specific time I was named. It is my name day, but not the day on which I was born," Spock clarifies as he makes his way over to the empty transporter console, setting in specific coordinates. When he's satisfied, he walks over to one of the pads and stands with his hands tucks behind him.

Jim joins him, just out of curiosity.

A few minutes later, they disappear in a cycle of light and reappear on the surface of New Vulcan in _Nu Shi'Kahr._

Spock strides forward and surpasses all the workers and the builders to go to the second largest structure (the first being the Katric Ark), which is made of glass and bronze plates.

_Ha-ek'torektra_, it was called. A controlled environment they built for the cultivation of the plants and animals from their home world.

Jim fans herself with her hands as she follows Spock inside, where it's hotter than it is outside. She sighs and is partially glad that she's wearing her blood orange overall shorts with a white midriff tank top. Her red flip-flops slap at the soles of her feet and noisily echoes throughout the empty hall that winds around to the sector that holds the animals in glass cells.

In front of each of these cells is Vulcan science officers, studying them and taking notes on their PADDs.

Upon their arrival, they throw her and Spock curious looks and begin to murmur again.

Jim internally sighs. She's getting _really _tired of that.

Spock dutifully ignores it and continues deep into the sector until they reach T'Pau, who is waiting for them with a large, no, _huge fucking bearcat creature thing_.

Jim freezes in place as her eyes widen in shock.

Spock says, in a tone of surprise, "I-Chaya."

"_Kudaya_, Spock," T'Pau says with warm eyes, though her face gives no hint to the smile she has in them. "You are surprised to see your sehlat."

Spock approaches I-Chaya and strokes his pale hands over its ears. "I had assumed that she fell with Vulcan," he says as I-Chaya purrs happily.

"She had not," T'Pau confirms.

"How then—"

"_Kaiidth_," T'Pau say with gentle sternness. "I am allowed my secrets. Introduce her to your bondmate. She will, after all, be protecting her, as well as your future children."

Spock goes green at the same time Jim flushes uncomfortably, and he glares at his grandmother. "_Bath'paik_," he hisses with a cold glare.

"Language, Spock," T'Pau airily rebukes as she exits gracefully. "Do not be afraid, James. I-Chaya will not harm you." And with that, she disappears from sight, leaving the three of them alone.

Jim fidgets unsurely as she eyes the huge brown bearcat.

After Spock's green flush dies, he leans forward and murmurs something in Vulcan into the sehlat's twitching ears.

Before Jim can think about running, I-Chaya trollops over to her and sniffs at her feet curiously. Jim tenses and closes her eyes in fear as I-Chaya's wet nose slides up her legs to her shoulders, stopping at her cheek. "Oh my God," she whispers and tries not to think about the fact I-Chaya has six inch fangs and sharp black nails coming out of her large paws.

"She will not harm you," Spock says, and damn him, she can hear how amused he is. His heavy gaze is hard to shake as well.

Jim squeaks in surprise as I-Chaya licks her cheek. "I'm going to _pee _myself, oh my God," she whimpers as one of I-Chaya's fangs brushes her elbow. "She is going to eat me."

"Jim, you are being—"

"Shut up, I'm _scared_," Jim whines as she fidgets and peeks one eye open.

I-Chaya is sitting back on her hind legs with her head cocked.

"Okay," Jim sighs as she eyes Spock's—no—_their _bearcat. "That's kinda of cute."

I-Chaya perks up when Jim musters up the courage to stroke a line down her back. She purrs and grunts happily.

Jim smiles when I-Chaya licks her bare shoulder. "Guess that means she likes me, huh?"

Spock joins them and murmurs, "_Fosh-tor nash-kosu_."

I-Chaya cocks her head but gives a nod that is quite impressive in Jim's eyes.

"What'd you say?" Jim questions as she scratches I-Chaya under her chin.

"Nothing of importance," Spock says as he watches them.

Jim narrows her eyes at him skeptically but laughs when I-Chaya licks her forehead. "Stop licking me, I-Chaya," she gently chastises as she scratches the back of I-Chaya's ear when she tucks her head into Jim's stomach. "What's she doing now?" she asks when I-Chaya sniffs at her stomach.

"She is determining whether or not you are with child," Spock vapidly explains with a furrowed brow, ignoring the flush that explodes across Jim's face. "I-Chaya, _kroykah,_" he rebukes.

I-Chaya huffs at him before she pulls away and begins to walk off.

"That's awkward," Jim decides as she follows after her. "So when is your birthday, if not today."

"I was born on the fourth of November," Spock divulges.

"But you were named before then?" Jim supposes with a thoughtful frown.

"Such an act is commonplace among my people," Spock says.

"So your birthday is coming up, huh? What will you do?" Jim asks as they follow I-Chaya down the winding hall.

"Vulcans do not celebrate birthdays," Spock corrects.

"Well your mother wasn't a Vulcan. I'm sure she did," Jim smartly points out.

"Indeed," Spock concedes with a quiet air. "There will be no need this year, since—" He falters as the line of his shoulders tightens. It's clear what he doesn't want to say.

Jim feels bad for even bringing it up. She decides to change the subject. "So what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"I will be spending time with my father and my—brother," Spock sullenly confesses.

Jim blinks rapidly as they step out into the sun. "I'm sorry—did you just say brother? You have a brother?" she echoes.

"Half-brother," Spock clarifies unnecessarily. "He is a product of my father's first marriage. Sybok and I do not often exchange pleasantries. He blames my mother for his mother and our father's separation." He looks distinctly uncomfortable. "My father is adamant that we develop a more stable relationship, even more so in the wake of Vulcan's passing."

"Ah," Jim says because she understands that he doesn't want go. "Do you want me to come? You know—offer moral support or be a buffer or something?"

"That will not be necessary," Spock assures. "Sybok will find your presence disagreeable. He is not fond of humans."

"Oh, well," Jim sighs as her mouth fidgets. "If you want, I can take I-Chaya with me. I'm not doing much of anything at the moment. Gives you one less thing to think about."

Spock says nothing and looks at I-Chaya who is roaming back and forth with no real destination in mind.

"Or," Jim adds with a mischievous grin. "You can take her and get her to, oh I don't know, _eat _Sybok if he's being a jerk."

The corner of Spock's lip twitch in an almost smile.

Jim feels very pleased with herself.

"I doubt that my father would appreciate such a gesture," Spock remarks, but he doesn't dismiss the idea altogether.

Jim snorts. "Just tell him I told you to. He loves me more than you anyway, so he'll totally let you off the hook," she decides.

"I will have to decline," Spock merely states as he turns to leave. He pets I-Chaya briefly and gestures to Jim when she tries to follow him, murmuring some kind of instruction in Vulcan.

I-Chaya saddles up to Jim after Spock has gone and waits expectantly.

"Um." Jim looks around as she thinks. "Know how to play spades?"

I-Chaya cocks her head.

"_Rand to Kirk_."

Jim smiles and holds up a finger. "Hold that thought, I-Chaya." She pulls out her communicator from her back pocket. "Kirk here. Go ahead."

"_If you're free—stop by my tent. I figured I played hard to get long enough._"

"Oh is that what you were doing? Playing hard to get?" Jim says with a throaty laugh.

Rand chuckles on the other end. "_Look, that's beside the point. Will you come?_"

"Yeah I'll be there with a plus one," she says and looks at I-Chaya.

"_Oh?_"

"You'll see. Kirk out." Jim snaps her communicator shut and makes her way towards the human camps as I-Chaya treks behind her. They cultivate a multitude of curious and frightened stares from all her fellow officers.

Rand gapes when they arrive.

"Don't worry, she won't eat you," Jim promises. "This is I-Chaya. She's Spock's sehlat. And kinda sorta mine too. It's complicated."

"Right," Rand says, still baffled. "Do I—should I let her inside or…"

"Well that's up to her. She can do what she wants," Jim supposes and pats the side of I-Chaya's face. She turns back to Rand and says, "After you."

Rand leads the way inside his tent. It's a small one but it's comfortable.

Jim kicks off her red flip-flops and makes herself comfortable on his orange floor bed.

I-Chaya sticks her head in through the mouth flaps, and once she's sure that she knows where Jim will be, she pulls away and begins circling the outside of Rand's tent like a bodyguard.

"So I thought long and hard about how I wanted our first date to go," Rand announces quite suddenly as he holds up a chrome briefcase. "Most guys would attempt to wine and dine a gorgeous woman like you, but me—I'm a bit more unorthodox than that."

Jim scoots back with a bemused smile as he stands on his knees at the low edge of his bed.

"First dates should be about getting to know each other right? Well I think there's three important things you should know about be me before we go any further," Rand continues as he pops open the briefcase. "One—I'm a fantastic artist. Which means my skills of nail art are unsurpassed." He gestures to the top of the briefcase, which is filled with rows of nail polish. "Two—I have an unhealthy obsession with candy that practically borders sexual in some ways." He gestures to the bottom half of the suitcase, which is filled to the rim with sugary confections.

Jim picks out a long candy necklace and puts it on. "What's three?" she asks as she sucks on a green apple bead.

Rand watches in fascination as he faintly replies, "I'm a Spurs fan."

"What?" Jim exclaims. "No, no, no. _L.A. Heat_ all the way and you can't tell me _anything_."

"You know what, that's fine—that makes you a little less attractive now, but I'm willing to overlook your bad qualities and move forward," Rand says long-sufferingly.

"Oh fuck you," Jim laughs as she throws a twizzler at him. "Spurs hasn't won a championship since 2218 and even then. Now the Heat—they're going for the win. I'm putting _all _my bets on them next year."

"I wouldn't," Rand says as shoves the whole twizzler in his mouth. "Spurs has it locked down. I can feel it."

Jim smacks her lips and shakes her head. "Who won this year though? I certainly don't remember Jacopo or Bryant _or _McQueen making the Final Four."

"Why do you have to throw McQueen in there?" Rand laughs between chews. "He's not even a point guard."

"Whatever," Jim says with a shrug. She leans forward and plucks free a neon pink nail polish. "Show me these impressive nail art skills."

Rand does.

The conversation goes on and flows easy as it often does when it's just between them.

Jim's not much of a dater, but this by far kind of sets the bar for a first date.

When they've eaten their weight in candy and have argued heatedly over an array of sports teams, they lie back on his bed and stare up at his ceiling.

It get's quiet, and Jim is surprised to realize that it's late in the evening hour.

Rand is lying behind her, tracing unknown symbols across her bare shoulder. "So I heard this rumor that you and Commander Spock are—bonded."

Jim tenses.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Jim bites down on her thumb as she watches I-Chaya's shadow circle the outside of the tent. "No."

Rand presses his lips to her shoulder as he tucks in close behind her. "I wasn't trying to be nosy—I guess I'm curious. If I have competition—"

Jim pushes her sticky fingers into her mouth and sucks on them.

"Okay, so that was a bad attempt at a joke," Rand sighs.

Jim hums in agreement.

"I—didn't really mean to say anything but," Rand mutters. "I really like you. I just wanted to know."

"I like you too, you idiot."

Rand slides his hand across her stomach and laces their fingers together as he tucks his nose into the crook of her neck. "Is it true?"

"Yes," she whispers quietly.

"I heard it's like a big deal in their culture. Like—an engagement or something," Rand says. "You know I wouldn't mind if you wanted to like have a threesome—"

"Oh my God, Jan. Shut up," Jim says laughingly as she hugs one of his pillows to her chest as Rand hugs her to his. "You're almost as bad as me."

"Am I? I'll take that as a compliment."

"Whatever."

Rand presses his lips to the crook of her neck as a blanket of silence passes over them.

Jim turns and kisses him fully. She doesn't stop until their clothes are off, and she knows he likes what he sees because he fumbles with his condom. They roll around and wrestle until it becomes a competition to see who should be on top.

Rand, the dirty cheater he is, bites down on a particularly sensitive spot on her shoulder. She jerks in surprise, which gives him the right advantage he needs to roll them over and he fucks all the syllables she knows right from her throat while he whispers heated promises into her flushed skin.

I-Chaya growls angrily at them the whole time.

Jim tries not to think about what that could mean.

888

**Author's Notes: **_My birthday is next week (July 10) so can I get a holla! Whoop, whoop. _

_Lots of things happening in this one, yes? And sorry, if you want Vulcan translations, I'm not going to provide them. You might have to do some research._

_Tell me what you guys thought of this chapter. It was a tough one. So bare with me if I didn't quite hit the mark._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Four**

Four days later, under the relentless hot sun, on a Thursday afternoon, Jim stands with Spock in anticipation of the arrival of the Astral Queen (a transport ship slightly smaller than the Enterprise). She's in a pair of banana colored overall shorts with a black midriff t-shirt, and it's not uniform but at least it's the same colors because god fucking damn it is too hot to be in uniform.

It doesn't really even matter.

They're not exactly Starfleet—they're more like contractor help that often lends their support to Starfleet from time to time when they happen to coincide in the same area when said help is needed.

This situation is no different.

Captain Jon Daily and his crew beam onto the surface of New Vulcan, just on the outskirts of _Nu Shi'Kahr_, and meets Jim and Spock with ready smiles.

"Captain Daily," Jim greets and shakes his hand. He's a short man—shorter than most at least—with wild red hair and a surly red beard, brown freckles across his nose and blue eyes that twinkled good-naturedly. He looks to be in his mid-sixties and he seems to be a good fit for the pirate stereotype. When Jim was younger, she would have loved him. Okay, who is she kidding? She's pretty damn fascinated by him now. "My name is Captain James Kirk and this is my First Officer, Commander Spock."

"Oh I know who you are, _boyo_," Daily remarks as he squints one eye and assesses Jim with a keen look that's far fonder than it is sexual. "The lads and I sing songs to your bravery over a good pint. Rest assured of that, Missy. You're in good company now."

"Well, I am glad to hear that. I hope your journey was an easy one," Jim says with a pleasant smile.

"Easy enough—though I do suppose I've had worse. You ever been to the Bajoran system during the spring leap?" Daily whistles with a friendly smile. "Bad bout of trouble you'll find yourself in with that, _boyo. _Believe you, that."

Jim snorts.

"Now, where was I? You must forgive an old man his musings. I tend to let this crotchety mind wander," Daily muses aloud. "Ah yes! Allow me to introduce you to my First Officer, Commander Thomas Riley."

Jim tenses as she lifts her gaze to the man striding towards them. He has honey brown hair and a mouth that slumps unhappily as though it's been that way since the day he was born. There are hard creases in the lines of his face, which makes him look wildly intimidating and old, but he's surely no more than a few years older than Jim.

The eye patch, though.

The eye patch is unmistakable.

"Captain Kirk." The smirk he gives is infuriating, taunting.

Jim contains her glare as best as she can to be civil. "Commander Riley—happy to have you," she practically says through clenched teeth.

He reaches forward with a mean gleam in his one good eye and grabs her hand, pressing the back of it to his lips. He says, "Happy to be here. Especially among the likes of you."

Jim snatches her hand back with a scowl.

He just continues to smirk.

"Easy there, Chesty. Don't need you courtin' strong," Captain Daily exclaims with a belly laugh that echoes through his crew, who give a few catcalls of their own. "Though you can't blame a man for tryin', _boyo_. You've a dab-hand with your looks."

Jim turns her blue eyes to Spock and sends him an exasperated look that says she _so _over this ambiguous misogyny already.

Spock returns the look with a barely perceptible glimmer of amused concern.

"So we're told by the fancy hats back on Earth that you've got some jobbing for us, _boyo_,_" _Captain Daily remarks, stealing back her attention.

Jim straightens her shoulders, and looks back to them. "Uh—yes. Commander Spock will be giving you and your company a short tour of the city. There's also a list of areas he will be forwarding to you so that your officers will know their designated building sites based on their particular skills," she explains as Captain Daily nods eagerly. "Meanwhile, Commander Riley and I will sort out your living arrangements down here in the human camps. When everything is accounted for, we'll all meet at the Mess tent. I went ahead and launched a little cookout in anticipation for your arrival. Think of it as a meet and greet. My officers get to know yours and vice versa. We're all going to have our feet on the ground for another three months—why not get to know each other?"

"Aye, aye," Captain Daily chimes with enthusiasm. "I like your thinking, _boyo_. I'm quite bucked to dig my hands in that little event. Everything's replicated this and that on my ship—God bless it though—but I can't abide it any longer. It'll be nice to have some _real _food."

Jim smiles, humored. "Well I'm glad I thought of it," she replies. Turning to Spock, she says, "Mr. Spock, why don't you go ahead and start the tour."

Spock inclines his head but not without flicking his gaze to Commander Riley, and then to her with a vaguely speculative look. There's a question there in his dark eyes, and Jim can read it like a book. It appears to be intentional on his part, and she wonders if he'll be talking about his suspicions with her later. It wouldn't be too farfetched for him to have his own doubts about Commander Riley—he has seen a good amount of her Tarsus memories. That's not something you just forget. But before she can really wonder what he'll do, the look vanishes under a mask of cool indifference and he indicates for Captain Daily and his crew to follow.

Jim wiggles her fingers and watches them disappear into the folds of _Nu Shi'Kahr._ It's not long before rough and calloused fingers are tightening around her upper right arm in a painful grip, and yanking her in the general direction of the human camps. "Easy there, Commander _Riley_. We wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong impression," she hisses as she stumbles after him.

"Fuck off, _boyo_," he replies with mock cheer. "Which one of these fucking hats is yours?"

"That one there. And let go of my arm," Jim replies calmly. They make a quick left turn and before she can ready herself, she's given a brutally forceful shove inside, causing her to fall on the ground on her hands and knees. She hisses at the painful smart she feels on her hands, and notes the unmistakable sear of skinned knees.

"Oh I'm sorry. Did I hurt you, _princess_?"

Jim flinches at the nickname as she pulls herself off the ground and onto her feet. She shakes the dirt of her hands as she turns to face the livid glare being sent her way. "You were always such an asshole. Weren't you—_Leighton?_" she counters.

Leighton's sneer curls into that infuriating pompous smirk she always remembered. "I'm told I've got a personality that only a mother would love—but wouldn't really know would I? My mom was a nefarious whore," he states and looks around her tent. "This is shit," he comments as he begins to gradually circle the place. "If this is the kind of set up we get then I'd rather stay on the ship."

"I'd rather you fuck off in general, but hey—we can't all get the things we want," Jim snidely remarks and leans forward to look at her knees. They're red and scuffed, just how she'd thought they'd be. And the finger-shaped bruise on her arm doesn't escape her notice—and certainly wont escape anyone else's for that matter.

"I will say this," Leighton drawls as he tosses her a side-glance with his one good eye. "You did grow up pretty. Must have used it to fool all those wet-necks in Starfleet and conned them good into giving you a ship, didn't you, _James?_"

"Fuck off, _Thomas_."

"Nah," Leighton merely says and bats his hand at her as though she were some annoying fly. "You're not my type, sunshine."

"Hm, that's right. I lack a dick."

"You'd still be a pussy either way."

"What the fuck are you doing here, Leighton?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Jimmy?" Leighton deflects. "But I don't think I'm feeling up to sharing. Not even if it is with an old camping buddy."

"Why're you using Riley's last name?" Jim asks as her fingers twitch.

Leighton doesn't reply. He kicks his boot against the edge of her yellow floor bed, leaving a muddy red mark.

Jim scowls before it smoothens into something vindictive. "Oh, I get it," she says.

Leighton looks up at her sharply with his one good eye. "Get what?"

"Why you're using his last name," Jim continues pleasantly. "You were always _so _in love with him. Why not tack on his last name? Makes it all so—official, right?"

Leighton expression flattens. "You know nothing, Kirk," he says quietly. "Nothing."

"I know this," Jim maintains. She fights against the guilt that tries to stab into her gut for using this little fact against him.

Leighton stares at her before his lips fold into a humorless grin. "Of course you do, _princess_." He chuckles. "You certainly would know. Cause you were just as in love with him as I was. Ain't that right?"

Jim tenses and her lips tighten unhappily. Her fingers curl into her palm.

"In fact," Leighton goes on to say as he approaches her, ignoring the warning glare she gives. "You were so in love with him—you went and got him killed."

"That—" Jim stares at him. "That's not true. I was the distraction. The _distraction_. I didn't—I _told _him not to come after me."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" Leighton asks as he shakes his head. "You honor his memory by lying to yourself? You know he had a soft spot for you. And whatever shit you got yourself into, he was right there trying to get you out. How the fuck was that night any different? Oh, I'll tell you how. He got fucking eaten alive by Kodos's wild dogs—all just because he was trying to spring you free from your little fucked up princess tea party chamber."

Jim moves away and turns her back to him as her eyes grow hot.

"I _begged_. Do you hear me? I fucking _begged _him to leave you behind," Leighton hisses, words getting choked by his anger and hatred. "We had four shuttles ready to go—ready to leave. And only fifty people who could come with. And this noble fucker goes back for you. For _you_. The little fucking bitch who was the _lure_ for all those damn kids. You didn't deserve to be saved and I shouldn't have been the only one to think it."

Jim shudders and closes her eyes regrettably. "Where is he?" she whispers. "Where's Kodos?"

"Why? You looking for some kind of sick family reunion?"

"Fuck you."

"No you fuck off," Leighton spits. "I'm _dealing _with it. Like I should have done the first time. All those years ago. You just stay out of my way—or I'll send him gunning for you. Heard he's been looking _real _hard for you, after all. You _were_ his prized pet."

"Fuck you," Jim snaps and whips around to glare at him. "Don't be dumb. You know far better than I that Kodos is the Hannibal Lector of evil. You think he's just going to let you take him down? A fucking maximum security prison in the Gamma Quadrant couldn't even do that."

"They weren't trying to kill him," Leighton retorts. Like it's just that easy. Like it's just that simple. "I _am_."

"You're going to get yourself killed," Jim warns. "We may not be on good terms but I'd rather that didn't happen to you, or anyone else for that matter."

"He has a weakness," Leighton reports. "And as soon as he gives in to it, I'll be right there—ready."

"Is he here?" Jim asks and watches him carefully. "Did you fucking bring him here, you dumb fuck?"

Leighton just smirks. "What's the matter, Jimerella? Scared?"

Jim presses back the urge to shake, or vomit, or throttle that one-eyed son of a bitch. "Where _is_ he?"

"Right where I want him," Leighton vaguely supplies. "I'll see around, _Captain_."

Jim waits five minutes after he leaves before she gives a frustrated shout.

Hurling this morning's breakfast is not all that unexpected when she exits her tent, and she has to convince her concerned officers that she really is all right.

That lie burns hot in her throat, all most as painfully as the stomach acid does.

Fucking Leighton.

He brought Kodos _here_.

888

Spock has so seldom known an individual who held the innate ability to attract ill-fated situations in their daily lives as much as Jim does.

This is enough cause for frequent worry.

In saying such, the surge of dismay from Jim through the bond hits Spock's mind like a shockwave and rattles his shields. It causes him to freeze in the midst of his descriptions of _Nu Shi'Kahr_ for a clear thirty-three point two eight seconds.

Captain Daily is none the wiser, but had it been any other of his own race, they would have surely noted the delay with an inquisitively disapproving frown.

Seeing as how he cannot abandon his current task without being irrevocably rude, he pushes back the want to seek out his captain and inquire on her health. The desire to do such distracts his thoughts as he continues in his explanations, and he holds his initial reaction to send a wave of comfort through the link at bay.

Captain Daily and his company of officers are attentive to his reports of the preliminary plans for the construction of the city. And given that the expanding region of the city will far surpass its predecessor, the assignments and placements of Captain Daily's officers takes the better part of three hours.

By then, the emotional surge Spock felt from Jim's end of the bond has cooled off into a quiet anger.

When all is sorted and accounted for, he leads them to the camps containing all the Enterprise's officers. There is a blaring surge of Terran music from an array of centuries. Spock is familiar with a ladder of the songs through the impression of his mother and her habit of playing such things while she read, or cooked, or cleaned.

The Enterprise camp is a mess and swarm of energetic and smiling faces. It is clear that this event has commenced for a compacted extent of time. The mass grows even livelier upon the arrival of Captain Daily and his crew. It appears that the majority of them have already been acquainted at some time or another.

There is a shuffle of white Styrofoam plates possessing grilled meats and yellow tanned breads and plastic red cups with fizzing sweet liquids the color of black, red, orange, purple, and clear.

Spock will not deny that this swapping of food and conversation does not interest him. The common aspect of it offers no appeal, though he is not averse to observing the general interactions between his officers and Captain Daily's, and the exchange that comes with such an event. He has not familiarized with the Terran concept of exchanging conversation over grilled foods set and eaten with plastic utensils and against the loud blare of music in the midst of the outdoors.

During his three year stay on Earth, he had heard many of the cadets from his classes and on the campus grounds talk of the alfresco events offered to them—sometimes through Starfleet and other times through the San Francisco bay area—with excited pitches to their vocal chords. Though he'd received countless invitations from his colleagues and even from his students to participate in such dealings, he declined. He was unable to fathom the appeal—much to the later bereavement of Nyota, who was one to participate in those precise customs.

He locates Captain Kirk in a matter of minutes, and it takes fifteen steps of a long stride to reach her. She is chatting animatedly with group of male junior officers. They are preening at the attention of their captain, as he has often noted in his observation of the Captain's exchanges with all of their male junior officers.

Upon his arrival, he records the nervous fleeting glances they exchange to one another and the way they straighten their posture in apprehension. He is aware that he is considered unerringly strict and coldly indifferent to all officers (outside of his science department).

Jim, noticing the change in their expression, turns to face the source of their discomfort and greets his arrival with an eagerly pleased smile that straightens out the casual line of her posture, and never fails to warm the soundless gaps between his ribcage with ribbons of vague indulgence.

Most peculiar.

The response, however, dies out like a small spark when he notices the finger shaped bruise on her upper left arm, four inches down from her shoulder and two inches up from her elbow. The bruise is a darkened purple/blue, which means that whatever the situation, it had to have happened no more than four hours ago. If Spock dwells on the estimates long enough, based on what he knows about the human anatomy (and Jim's body in particular), he can undeniably pinpoint the exact time—and the answer coincides right around the moment Commander Riley and Jim departed towards the Enterprise camp.

Therefore, it would not be farfetched of Spock to place Commander Riley as the source of his captain's appalling bruise and unnerved state.

Jim fidgets under his watchful stare and she begins to sport a causal façade, as she often will when she is nervous or anxious. "Commander Spock. I trust the tour went well?" she supposes.

Spock lifts his gaze from her bruise to her blue eyes and plays along with his captain's try at distraction by replying, "Indeed. Captain Daily and his crew are well accounted for. I suspect they recognize their individual responsibilities in the city's construction. Should they not, they are aware they may ask either you or I."

"Good," Jim says and gives the rest of their group fleeting smiles. "I won't hold up anymore of your time. You should go and mingle with the newbies. Make them feel welcome."

"Certainly, Captain—but I was quite enjoying our discussion about _Claymore's Warp Angle Equation on Tactics_," Officer Howard timidly states and there is a murmur of agreement. "You wrote a paper about it in your freshman year. I can't even tell you about how many lines I quoted in my own dissertation. It practically bordered plagiarism."

"Huh," Jim merely says with a shrug. "I wrote a lot of papers my freshman year. I wasn't trying to make a name for myself or show anyone up or anything. I just, uh—" She scratches her chin thoughtfully. "I just really was trying to get all my general coursework out of the way. My schedule was hectic and crazy and left no room for a social life, but I'm not going to lie and say that I didn't sneak a bit of fun in there, because I did. But holistically, from sunrise to sunset, I was dashing back and forth trying to make it to each lecture hall on time. I mean my whole goal was to practically slingshot myself to graduating out of the Command Track in under three years."

"Not a lot of people can do that, you know—handle that much work and responsibility," Officer Dune adds as he looks at Jim with unconcealed interest that borders infatuation. "You were top of every class though. That alone, is amazing. I bet your IQ is crazy high."

Jim smiles and shakes her head. "We don't have to put a number on it. I _am_ an expert at retaining knowledge, I will give myself that—but there's all types of intelligence," she says.

"Can we talk about the Kobayashi Maru?" Officer Cobalt questions with a laugh that echoes through the group.

Jim laughs and fans at her reddening face. "Oh my God, no. Absolutely not. I already got in enough trouble for that," she says with a smile. "Alright, off with you all. Let me and my First Officer have some privacy so we can gossip about you all."

Some of the junior officers snort in humor but they wander off with a brief wave and a nod of acknowledgement to Spock.

"I know we need talk—mainly for the fact that I could really use your advice over something," Jim says as they catch each other's gazes. "I'm gonna go get a plate to go because I haven't eaten yet and then we can head over to your tent. Sound good?"

Spock inclines his head in agreement and watches as Jim disappears in the flock of officers and inside the Mess tent. A moment later, she reappears with two sets of doubled plates resting on top of each other, and a plastic red cup containing a dark fizzy purple liquid that smells suspiciously like grapes.

Jim motions for him to lead the way and she follows silently. When they arrive at his marquee, she's not reluctant to enter first as she usually is in any other circumstance.

Spock follows her inside and observes as she sits at his level table, putting her plates and cup down while I-Chaya curls around her from behind.

Jim leans back against I-Chaya's side as she scratches her ear before she turns her attention to the food in front of her. She takes off the plastic wrap and begins to eat the yellow rice and grilled chicken with her small fingers.

Spock watches with quietly disturbed amusement as he places himself on the other side of the table, opposite to her. In his culture, Jim eating a meal with her fingers would be considered exceedingly offensive and indecent. Vulcans possess sensitive telepathic hands, which on private occasions act as anatomic extremities for intimacy.

To place one's fingers in or near the mouth is equated to self-stimulation.

The tips of Spock's ears green as his humor flees in the wake of this stream of thought, and he has to force his gaze elsewhere, lest his mind continue to wander in a deplorable direction.

"What? What's wrong?" Jim asks between chews. "Why're you all—" She pauses as she swallows. "I'm doing something aren't I?"

"Captain."

"Oh yeah. Now I _know _I've done something," Jim snorts as she straightens. "Okay. What is it? What did I do?"

"You are eating with your hands."

"Okay," Jim drawls with a small frown. "I forgot to grab some utensils in my rush to get back to you. I didn't think if—so, um, what? Me eating with my hands is a problem because?"

"Vulcans do not consume their meals with their hands," Spock attempts to clarify as his horrid flush darkens. This is a most uncomfortable discussion.

"Hm," Jim says as she looks at her fingers. "You guys don't eat with your hands—and you're as green as an apple which means I must be doing something indecent by doing just that. So I'll have to take a wild guess and say that what I'm doing must be the equivalent of—masturbation or something?"

Spock swallows dryly as his gaze wanders around his marquee in an effort to avoid all eye contact with Jim. "You are not—incorrect," he reluctantly confirms.

"Okay. I am really sorry," Jim says and starts to laugh, which contradicts her statement.

"I fail to see the humor," Spock states dryly as an itch of irritation seizes him and flourishes in the wake of his captain's cackling.

"No, it's not," she gasps out between laughs. "But your _face_." The rest of her words drown in her laughter. "This must have killed you to talk about."

Spock says nothing, and quietly begins to navigate his unsettling emotions into something more manageable.

"Okay. Sorry," Jim says when she finally calms down and fans at her pinked face. "Um—okay. Just, like, don't look okay? I'm gonna eat the rest of this because I really am hungry and I can't wait. So just—bare with me."

Spock furrows his brow but he turns his gaze to the west end of his marquee.

Ten minutes and seventeen point two seconds later, Jim has cleared her plate and, without pause, begins to greedily drink down her cup of soda. She lets out a satisfied exhale as she pushes her empty plates to the side and licks at her purpled lips with an equally purple tongue. She has a plate of jelly-filled donuts, cupcakes, miniature cakes, and shortbread cookies covered in a film of white chocolate. She lifts the plate and gestures to it in offering.

Spock politely declines, but continues to carefully assess her reactions for any allergic responses that might call for immediate medical attention.

"So," Jim says after she pops a shortbread cookie into her mouth. She chews, then continues, "I bet you're wondering about the bruise, huh?"

"Commander Riley was physically aggressive," Spock deducts and watches as Jim blinks slowly in surprise before it morphs into something like aggravated fondness.

"Um. Yeah," she begrudgingly admits. She takes a moment to scrutinize him before she goes on to say, "You know, Spock—you are wonderfully annoying sometimes."

Spock lifts a brow in response to her candidness. Judging by the lightness in her tone, he surmises that she means this with the best intentions. Therefore, he stores the perplexing compliment away for later assessment and says nothing as she takes a bite from one of her cupcakes.

"Yeah, and um, Commander Riley isn't exactly Commander Riley. He's Thomas Leighton," Jim explains with an unnerved frown that pushes her neat blonde brows together with an irritated crinkle. "He's just moonlighting as Riley—God really knows why. I mean I guessed at why but—" She trails off with a shrug. "Anyway, that's not the problem. The problem is that he brought Kodos here."

Spock experiences a sudden surge of disquiet that weighs the corners of his mouth down in a severe frown.

"Yup," Jim says as she watches his face. "He's fucking insane."

"This will undoubtedly present a problem," Spock decides, ignoring Jim's profanity as his mind attempts to logically balance the consequences of the situation. "Ultimately, he poses the biggest threat towards you."

"Well, kinda," Jim says thoughtfully. She eats another shortbread cookie. "Maybe he's forgotten about me?" she jokes callously.

Spock sees that she does not understand the seriousness of the situation. "Even in this corner of the galaxy, Captain, two plus two equals four. Almost certainly an attempt will be made to kill you."

"Don't I know it? I'm practically walking around with a target on my back," Jim mutters sullenly as she concedes the point to him. "I've been running the whole thing through my mind, over and over and over. Things didn't really add up, you know? When Bones first told me about the rumor with Kodos flying the jailhouse coop and wiping out all the remaining survivors, I decided to do a little research. Virtually all the murders are _beyond _strange, just for the simple fact of how they occur, being in or near the vicinity of their house. Which can only mean that they either forgot what his face looks like or he's got some reconstructive plastic surgery done. Which also would explain why Leighton's not so quick to point the finger. He probably doesn't know which one he is for sure."

"That presents an additional problem," Spock states with a deepening frown.

"The dumb monkey can't possibly accomplish anything on his own," Jim remarks as she leans forward and props her forearms against the edge of the table. "Which is why I've decided to do something."

Spock looks at Jim, and every unsustainable aspect and outcome becomes plain as day and it curls around her head like unseen smoke. He sees the marginal errors, the necessary risks, all the danger, and his tongue curls with the lecture that begins to ascend from the walls of his vocal chords.

"Listen," Jim says as she stares at him with earnest blue eyes asking him to heed to her every word.

Spock is inexplicably drawn to this wordless request, so he maintains his silence and bestows her with his full attention.

"I'm asking for your help, because I realize how idiotic and insensible it will be to do it on my own." Jim pauses to snort bitterly and shake her head. "The truth is—I'm exhausted. I'm utterly tired of fighting by myself. Of looking for answers and solutions by myself. There is only so much a woman of my caliber can handle—and Kodos is certainly my breaking point."

Spock is, to say the least, flummoxed.

"Yeah I know. Me asking for help with my personal problems—and the universe isn't imploding. I just don't want to go to the edge and have no tight rope to pull me back. So this is me sticking out my neck and saying I'm vulnerable by myself," Jim continues with a slightly steady voice. "After what happened with T'Khut, and the way you and Uhura and Chapel looked after me—it made me realize that I didn't want or have to be alone. It made me realize that either I can be a team player or I can run by myself and come to nothing. I've always looked after myself—I've never had other people in my sandbox, and now that I do, I just don't think it would be beyond me to utilize that help." She exhales and combs her long bangs from her eyes, as she often does when she is acutely contemplative or anxious. "So what do you say? You feel up to helping me with this?"

Spock resists the urge to frown at the question. "You need not ask, Jim," he affirms. "You are my friend."

Jim smiles, but there is pain in her eyes and uncertainty that does not fail to stir a response from Spock.

She is soundlessly perplexing.

"Thank you, Spock," she finally says. She clears her throat and turns her eyes away as she goes on to say, "Considering things—I think we should bring everyone in on this one. The more brainpower we have, the better. I mean, between you and me, we're above genius level. But I think we can extend it. So—I suggest we recruit Uhura, Sulu, Chekov, Scotty, and Bones."

"Very well," Spock concedes as he stands. "I will forward a notification requesting their presence immediately."

Jim nods gratefully, but there are weary lines pressing into face as she begins to stroke I-Chaya, who begins to fall asleep peacefully under her. She gives the impression of one troubled and saddened by a conflict unspoken.

Curious.

Spock dismisses his notions for the moment in favor of gathering his PADD and sending high priority notifications to their counterparts. Once he has finished, he busies himself by making tea for their impending company, as well as keeping a watchful eye on Jim, who is still quietly brooding.

Their crew arrives to his marquee in less than fifteen minutes.

Jim urges them all to sit with her in a hushed tone that is unnecessary, and Spock counters it by assuring her that I-Chaya is a heavy sleeper and that their discussion will not disturb her if they speak in normal tones.

"Okay," Jim drawls with unneeded skepticism as she wrinkles her nose. "But if she wakes and eats our crew, I'm blaming you."

Spock does not rise to her obvious bait.

That does not seem to matter to Jim because she still snorts as though she has garnered the response from him that she desired, which does not fail to induce a spark of annoyance that in turn perplexes him and pushes his annoyance further.

Jim's capability of soliciting emotion from him is endlessly bewildering and disquieting.

As they sit, huddled around his leveled table, he begins to pour each individual a cup of tea (with the exception of Jim, who will simply refuse to drink), and Jim commences explaining the situation.

There is a moment where she hesitates at the end of it all, before she says, "I want you to know what happened on Tarsus. I—you have to understand how serious this may become."

"You don't have to," Nyota assures over her cup. "It can't be easy to talk about."

"Aye, Captain," Mr. Scott concurs after a brief swallow. He blows away the steam rising from his cup. "No pressure."

"If hunting Kodos is important," Mr. Chekov adds in a youthfully enthusiastic tone that contradicts the solemnness of his expression. "Then we will do all that we can to help, Keptin."

"Yeah," Mr. Sulu agrees, toasting his cup of tea toward Mr. Chekov. "What he said."

"Then it's settled," Dr. McCoy decides. His face is pressed into a serious frown. He refuses to touch his cup of tea. "We're all in."

Jim looks at each and one of them, and then, with a steading sigh, says, "I trust you guys with my life and beyond that. You're more than my colleagues—you're my friends. It's like I told Mr. Spock—I'm tired of doing it all on my own and carrying the burden myself. I really want you to know what happened with me on Tarsus. It's a gruesome story, but like I said, you need to know what you're dealing with. This isn't just some average psychotic man. He's malicious, and the very definition of ruthless."

No one attempts to stall the Captain's confession this time.

Jim straightens the line of her shoulders and begins her desolate tale. Her voice shakes and quakes, but she never ceases, not once. She even speaks through the tears that descend the curve of her cheeks like a slender waterfall until her voice is hoarse at the end of it all.

Nyota presents Jim with a box of tissues that she gratefully accepts and quickly sets to work with drying her eyes and pinked cheeks.

There is a grim moment of silence that stretches into the corners of Spock's marquee and blankets them in individual contemplative stillness.

Dr. McCoy, however, crosses his arms and lowers his gaze to his untouched cup of tea. He does not appear to be surprised by the Captain's confession, as Spock is not.

Spock presumes that there must have been an occasion when Jim made the Doctor privy to such information.

Curious.

"Well," Jim says, breaking the quiet with her shaky voice. "That was probably the hardest thing I've had to do and really kind of out of character for me because I'm not exactly the touchy-feely sharing type either. Not to mention I never like talking about the Tarsus thing under any circumstance—but," she pauses to gather herself. "This is a deadly serious situation—and discussing it was a necessary evil. Now we can focus on a game plan."

"Well," Mr. Chekov begins as he sets down his empty cup. "If I may, Keptin—"

"You may, and call me Jim please. We've talked about this before. We're not on duty."

"Ah, sorry. Yes, Jim," Mr. Chekov echoes as he fiddles with his tea cup. "It is my initial thinking that if Kodos has underwent the plastic surgery—we may be able to track the surgeon who is responsible. Through him or her, we could find Kodos as he looks now."

"The kid's got a point," Dr. McCoy says, gruffly. "We've got a time span we can follow up on. He would've had the procedure done a little over two years ago."

"You know, if you think about it—Tarsus was a big thing, right?" Mr. Sulu supposes. "I mean, we're talking full media coverage, the whole works. How exactly do you find a willing surgeon to agree to doing that kind of procedure for you without the threat of selling you out or turning you in?"

"And how do we know Kodos hasn't already covered his tracks?" Nyota adds thoughtfully. "He gets what he comes for and he ties up all the lose ends."

"Not necessarily," Dr. McCoy carefully corrects. "Reconstructive surgery is a gamble in itself. Even with all the technology we have in this day and age. He would've had to constantly check in with his surgeon just in case something wasn't on the up and up. Maybe his new nose is making it hard for him to breathe. Maybe that new jaw isn't unhinging like it's supposed to. Anything can happen and you can't exactly hop from doctor to doctor to get all the little fix-ups taken care of. You don't hand over a painting to a new artist and expect him to follow through just the same."

"There's no guarantee that the surgeon is still alive, but at the same time, like Bones said, he could still be needed," Jim says. "So with that said—Bones, I want you and Uhura to see if you can narrow down all the possibilities and track this surgeon down."

Dr. McCoy and Nyota give consenting nods.

"Thirteen people have died by Kodos's hands," Jim adds. "Chekov—I want you and Sulu to talk to the families of the victims and even the still remaining surviving victims. Maybe they know something or have heard something. Anything. See what you can find out."

Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekov give consenting nods.

"Mr. Spock and I will keep our ears to the ground here. I hate to have to wait this out, but there is a certain point to what Leighton's trying to do. Kodos does have a weakness. Children—boys in particular," Jim says and her face folds into something sad and anxious. "I hope beyond hope we can figure this out before it comes to that. And I'm sure I don't need to tell any of you that we need to keep this quiet."

"I encourage us all to keep Commander Leighton under watch," Spock includes. "He holds specific knowledge that may aid our endeavors."

"Exactly," Jim agrees. "But let's not tip either of them off to what we're doing. Understood?"

They all agree and that is the end of the discussion.

Spock excuses himself at the request of Nyota, and they exit his marquee for privacy.

"Walk me to my tent?" Nyota asks.

Spock wordlessly agrees and they start a steady pace towards the Enterprise camp.

"How are you?" Nyota asks as her gaze turns to him and morphs into something searching. "How have you been?"

"I am of optimal health," Spock replies and knows that this is not the answer she wants when she rolls her eyes.

Nyota smiles fondly and it is interlaced with nostalgia. "Well this certainly feels familiar," she notes. "I've always had to pry answers from you."

Spock says nothing. He is confident she will continue.

"So many unsaid things with you, and I can't grasp any of it. Honestly—you and Kirk are more alike than you realize," Nyota says. "But I'm worried."

"For what reason?" Spock questions.

"It's Kirk—what's there not to worry about?" Nyota simply replies.

Spock wholeheartedly agrees, but he does not verbalize it.

"You know, I've never been more wrong about my assessment of a person," Nyota continues. "Can you imagine how horrible I feel after hearing what she said? To go through something like that and still be able to hold your head up. I was so wrong about her, and I—" She falters and shakes her head. She crosses her arms and holds onto her shoulders.

"The Captain holds a belief that she is liable to accept any and all prejudice on her character," Spock states. Instances of such occasions unfold in his mind and presses a deepening frown on his face. "I do not like when she quietly accepts those negative connotations."

Nyota glances at him, and her expression is undecipherable. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say you haven't told her about what your people have been muttering about her," she presumes.

_Unwanted stain. _

_Peace disruptor._

_Alien. _

_Earth whore. _

Spock's shoulders tighten unhappily as their words sweep his mind. "It is not for her to know," he decides in a low tone filled with barely perceptible ire. He is doing his best not to get upset at the mere memories. They remind him of the days in his youth when his people reacted the same with his mother. "She believes the insults are solely based on my mixed heritage. I do not intend to correct her—though she is prying. I fear her curiosity will drive her to learn our language—a feat that will provide no qualms for an uncomplicated mind such as hers."

"Well now, what was that?" Nyota quips with a grin. "Was that fondness in that blank tone? I think it was."

"You are mistaken," Spock simply corrects as his shoulders relax.

"Sure," Nyota replies skeptically. "I think she's growing on you. The way you behave with her—I've never seen you like that. You can't deny she's different. And you're wasting your time by pretending that you don't care about her when it's obvious you do."

Spock says nothing at first. He takes a moment to recall each and every interaction with his captain and compare his behavior to his interactions with individuals outside of the Captain. His conclusions are—unexpected.

Nyota is correct.

"Jim is a valuable friend," Spock reasons as they enter her marquee.

"Hm," Nyota says as she removes her orange sandals and sits on the edge of her bed with a gesture for him to join her. "I suppose we're all lucky to say that she's our friend. She is—one of a kind. And I mean that in the best way possible now, if I hadn't before." She sighs as she fiddles with her sundress. "There's a rumor floating around, but, when isn't there ever? It's about Rand and Kirk. People are saying they're together. I don't know. What do you think?"

"I am indifferent to the relationship she holds with Yeomen Rand," Spock merely says, confused by this direction of conversation.

Nyota laughs and says, "Oh, Spock. You basically confirmed that the rumor is true. I was asking what you thought _about _the rumor."

Spock furrows his brow as his confusion deepens.

"Never mind," Nyota says as she chuckles and looks at him with a keen eye. "Sometimes I really miss you."

Spock holds his silence. He cannot find a suitable rebuttal for her comment.

Nyota does not seem to mind. She sighs and releases her hair from the tie that holds it in a low ponytail. Her long hair falls over her right shoulder like a dark curtain. "I meant to ask earlier—but was that I-Chaya? I thought she fell with Vulcan."

"She has not," Spock says. "I had assumed the same, but my grandmother presented her to me on my name day as a gift of sorts. Jim was present. She was fearful that I-Chaya would consume her." He briefly thinks on the instance with quiet amusement.

"Your sehlat _is_ intimidating," Nyota agrees with a frown. "She would have never liked me. I am not overly fond of animals."

Spock is aware of this fact.

"Does Kirk know about the job offer?" Nyota suddenly asks with a watchful gaze.

"I have not spoken with her about it," Spock admits, rather reluctantly. "I am still determining the factors."

"But, you're not going to take it right?" Nyota asks with a voice full of disapproval. "Spock—what are you thinking? You can't really be considering it. You're place is with us."

"There are far few options," Spock reasons impassively. He cannot comprehend her upset. She is undoubtedly not considering the logistics. "It would be rather remiss of me to decline the offer without fully considering the elements in its entirety."

"Bullshit," Nyota scorns. "Vulcans are beyond capable of making something out of nothing. If you can't take it, I'm sure there _is _someone else who can. I don't really believe you're their only option."

"Perhaps," Spock vaguely concedes.

"Spock," Nyota says and catches his eyes. "Maybe I can't convince you to stay with us. Talk to Jim—and I hope to God she can work that charming magic of hers and knock some sense into you. The Enterprise needs you."

"I have not made a final verdict," Spock lightly assures, but the frown Nyota holds is still written with dismay. "I will discuss it with the Captain before I do."

Nyota says nothing but her frown loosens. "So, she's met your grandmother?" she asks. Her tone is questioningly neutral.

"Indeed," Spock confirms. "It was under a peculiar circumstance that I should not elaborate on. Jim will be displeased if I recount the circumstance."

Nyota curls amusedly and Spock cannot fathom why. "There it is again. That was an actual hint of fondness in your voice. You know, sometimes you talk about her like she's your wife."

"Nyota, please," Spock implores as his fingers curl uncomfortably over his thighs. "You are mistaken."

"Oh no, Spock," Nyota denies. "That's where you're wrong. A woman knows this kind of thing. And I'm not saying that you should run off into the sunset and marry each other. But you do have to at least acknowledge the fact that things are changing between you and her. It's a set path, Spock. I don't think there's any changing the destination."

"You will excuse me if I am not agreeable to your opinion," Spock states crossly. He is quite done with inquisitive, pushy, and opinionated comments aimed towards the relationship he holds with Jim.

It is needless and doubtlessly invasive.

"I'm not trying to upset you. But I just think your doing your honest best to suppress whatever _real _feelings you have for her, and denial never looks good on anyone," Nyota continues, stubbornly. "You know I love you, Spock. And I only want the best for you. I'm just saying that none of us are promised tomorrow. I wouldn't want you to regret anything if something were to happen."

Spock says nothing, but he does not completely disregard her words. He stands, and with a brief exchange of goodbyes, he exits her marquee.

The sky colors a dark orange to mark the midpoint of the day.

When Spock returns his marquee, he is stunned into stillness when he sees Jim pouring his older brother a cup of tea.

Sybok glances up at his arrival and his lips twitch with something like taunting vindication. "_Greetings, little brother_," he says, speaking in Vulcan. "_I had come to see you but your Terran woman was here in your stead._"

"I hope you don't mind, Spock," Jim says as she glances curiously between them. "He said he was just stopping by and I didn't want him to run off if you were going to come back at any moment. So I was keeping him company."

Spock is very displeased with this news and he assesses the situation with a dense frown.

"It would appear that Spock had the intention of concealing you from me," Sybok notes passively. "Though I can not fathom why. He knows of my interest in meeting you."

"You don't say," Jim murmurs sarcastically.

Sybok does not pick up on her tone.

Jim smirks and throws Spock a look.

Spock relaxes when he realizes that Jim knows that his older brother is not here with virtuous intentions.

Jim is cleverly aware of many things, and when it suits her, she will act politely naive, as so to take advantage of the situation. This current circumstance is no different.

Pride over her cleverness floods Spock's senses without warning and he fights to contain it as he moves to join Jim and Sybok at his table.

Curious.

Jim immediately sets an empty cup before him and pours him an ample amount of tea that he thanks her for.

"_She is well-behaved,_" Sybok aloofly notes over the rim of his cup. "_Surely she realizes that she is affirming her place in your household as your 'beloved' by serving your guests and you._"

Spock goes a bit green and he glares at his brother.

Sybok hides his slight smirk into his cup of tea.

Jim raises her eyebrows questioningly at his flush and she glances between them in uncertainty and with barely perceptible annoyance. She does not like being left out of the conversation.

"You have come for a reason?" Spock questions in English for Jim's sake. "This visit must be imperative. You made no attempt of informing me beforehand of your arrival."

"This is true," Sybok merely states, as his face remains dispassionate.

Spock waits for him to elaborate, but he does not. He is clearly either hiding something or being deliberately taxing. There is a chance that Sybok is trying for both.

"Um, well," Jim begins, in efforts to break the uncomfortable silence. "Before you came—we were just about to talk about something called _pon farr_."

Spock crushes his porcelain cup with a sudden surge of alarm and anger.

"Holy shit!" Jim exclaims, jumping in surprise as a splash of tea washes over the table and sprinkles the three of them with scattering drops. Her blue eyes widen as she looks at the shattered remains of his cup with mixture of amazement and confusion. Then, she scrambles to shove a box of tissues at him as she attempts to help clean up the mess on the table.

"Captain," Spock warns as he tries to navigate his anger into something more suitable. "Your aid is not required. I will dispose of these shards."

"_What an idea,_" Sybok murmurs casually as his dark eyes gleam with his arrogance while he addresses Spock in Vulcan. "_We wouldn't want the pretty human to hurt herself. Though I have always been curious about the color of their blood. Is it true that theirs is red? Let her slice open her palm so that I may observe._"

"_Be silent, Sybok. I am grieved by your presence,_" Spock snaps as he quickly removes the sharp shards from Jim's reach. He would not give his brother the satisfaction of seeing her injured.

Jim huffs in annoyance and crosses her arms as she watches him, understanding fully that he does not want her to touch anything.

"Your Captain is unfamiliar with _pon farr_," Sybok gracefully switches back to English after he silently sips his tea. "I was certain you would discuss such an event with her."

"We do not speak of these things to outsiders," Spock corrects coldly as he disposes of all the shards in a small bin on the other side of his marquee. When he returns to the table, Jim has already wiped down the wet areas and replaced his broken cup with a new one.

"Your Captain is not to be considered an outsider, brother," Sybok counters as his eyes gleam with blatant spite. "At least, not to me or our immediate family."

Spock wisely does not touch his cup this time as he glares at his older brother.

Sybok merely lifts an eyebrow in response.

"Right, um, what exactly is _pon farr_?" Jim questions as she glances between them.

"It is considered to be a very private matter within our society," Sybok replies as he lowers his cup. "The _pon farr_ is a Vulcan time of mating where adult Vulcans undergo a neurochemical imbalance, that takes on a form of madness which may culminate in the form of _plak tow _or blood fever."

Jim stares at him as a flush spreads across her face and down the length of her neck.

Sybok leans forward slightly and observes the response with a pleased hunger that angers Spock.

"_Do not look at her in such a way_," Spock warns, switching to Vulcan so Jim can remain ignorant.

"_Jealous, little brother?_"

"_It is not a matter of jealousy as it is respect._"

Sybok ignores him and continues to stare at his captain greedily. "This is what I wanted to discuss," he states, switching back to English. "The time of _pon farr _is nearing and we have yet to prepare ourselves, brother. Grandmother and father are quite concerned, as well as the many of us. So many humans within proximity." His dark eyes follow the flush on Jim's face down onto her neck and Spock's hands curl in fury. "Your people, Captain Kirk, will no doubt be propositioned if we should find ourselves unevenly numbered. I thought it only fair to warn you if it should come to this."

"I—um—" Jim flounders with her words a bit as her flush darkens. "You mean that your people may feel inclined to mate with mine in hopes to survive this, um, _pon farr_?"

"You are astoundingly clever," Sybok compliments as his lips twitch. "I am beginning to alter my opinion of humans. Perhaps I have been incorrect in my assumptions." He finally turns his gaze to Spock. "Father and grandmother suspect that it will hit us all in simultaneous harsh fluctuations—in light of the recent passing of our home world. Our initial instinct will be to resuscitate our quantities. The effects will be rather strong."

"How long before the first wave?" Spock questions as he swallows dryly and denies the sweep of fear and anxiety that tries to seize him.

"The end of November—when the planet begins to surpass its normally mild temperatures. Then, brother, it will call to us," Sybok says. "I suggest you make your preparations." He flicks his gaze over to Jim. "You are rather lucky to have found your _t'hy'la_. The struggle will not be as great for you as for those of us that are without."

Jim chokes on a sound of surprise at the implications and her flush goes wild and spreads across the entirety of her body.

Sybok's nostrils flare. "_I will warn you only once, little brother. If you do not make your claim for her blatant, I will challenge you. She has a certain appeal I was not prepared for. Perhaps if your mother was as aesthetically pleasing as your bondmate, I would have been more inclined to forgive her of her transgressions._"

"_Damn you,"_ Spock hisses. "_You will depart at once. Do not threaten me. She is my friend and I will not have you propositioning her._"

"_Friend? I would have worded that better," _Sybok remarks coolly as he stands. "_You are not my father and I shall do what I like, little brother. You're **friend **is pleasing to me and I will have her if you should not._"

Spock growls and Jim looks at him in surprise.

I-Chaya stirs and licks at the sides of her mouth before she sets her gaze on Sybok and snarls warningly.

Sybok's lips twitch in amusement and he turns his attention to Jim. "Captain Kirk, it was a pleasure. I look forward to our future interactions." Without anything further, he exits the marquee without a glance in Spock's direction.

Jim fans at herself as her face cools off into its normal shade. "So, um—you want to tell me what that was all about?"

Spock says nothing. He is glaring spitefully at Sybok's empty cup. He briefly imagines crushing it over Sybok's head before he combats the violent notion with a careful exhale.

"Are we going to pretend that us having awkward sex to save your life is a _real _and _future _possibility?" Jim presses with an edge of desperation to her voice.

I-Chaya begins to stretch and bite her nails into the ground before she walks over to Spock and bumps her wet nose into his tense shoulders in a sign of comfort.

Spock relaxes and strokes her. "_Do not fret, I-Chaya. I am well._"

I-Chaya huffs but she backs away and returns to Jim.

"It is a mere insinuation," Spock finally responds, switching back to English. "There is no guarantee that I will fall under the influence of _pon farr. _I am of mixed heritage, which greatly lowers the chances."

"Yeah, okay," Jim agrees absentmindedly. "But there is still a chance right?"

Spock says nothing.

Jim balls up a piece of tissue and hurls it at him.

Spock catches it midair before it can make impact. "Captain."

"No," Jim snaps petulantly. "You will talk to me about this. We will _talk _about this. Because as of now, I am apparently all that stands between you and surviving."

"If it should affect me, then I will seek a woman among my race to aid me," Spock calmly states.

"Oh please," Jim scoffs. "It won't work because you and I are _tied _to each other. I may be ignorant about a lot of things when it comes to your culture but not about this. Not about our bond."

"I will not force you into assisting me," Spock maintains with barely concealed vexation.

"Damn right you wont because I'm _offering _to help, you frustratingly noble Vulcan," Jim says with a tone and expression of exasperation. "I will help you."

Spock stares at her mutely.

"It's okay, Spock," Jim continues gently. "Really. It's okay. So don't worry, all right? We'll cross that bridge if we do happen to come to it. Just know I will help." She clears her throat. "We'll put that on the backburner for now. Let's just focus on one thing at a time. Kodos is still a number one concern for me as of the moment."

Spock inclines his head.

"And what's up with your brother? He's like—I don't know. I got the impression that he was up to something and then he just springs that on us," Jim questions with a thoughtful frown. "Also—was it me or did he seem like he was hitting on me?"

"It would be in your best interest to avoid his company," Spock vaguely confirms.

Jim makes a displeased face that amuses him. "Um, yeah, no thanks. You don't have to tell me twice." She shakes her head. "Your brother gives me the creeps to be honest."

Spock unfurls his fingers and picks up his cooled tea.

Jim watches and props her head in her hand as she leans against his table. "How is it?" she asks observantly. "The tea. How is it? I don't usually make it or anything but I figured I'd try my hand since your brother let himself in unannounced after everyone had left off to do their own thing."

Vulcans do not ingest fluids or food based on flavor preferences the way that humans do. But this is not what Spock says. What he says, instead, is, "It is favorable."

Jim narrows her eyes and wiggles her mouth thoughtfully before she smiles. "Cool. Don't get used to it though because I'm no Suzie Homemaker."

Spock furrows his brow in question as he takes another long drink of his tea.

They sit in companionable silence for the next seven minutes and forty three point fifteen seconds.

Jim is leaning back against I-Chaya as she finishes off the deserts on her abandoned plate.

Spock sets his empty cup down onto his table.

"_Rand to Kirk._"

Jim chews thoughtfully as she lifts up her waist and plucks her communicator free from her back pocket. "Kirk here. Go ahead."

"_I am in desperate need of your presence. I think I may be going through withdrawals._"

Jim laughs. "You saw me this morning."

"_It feels like days ago. My body yearns for the nectar of your skin_."

"Gross."

"_Romantic, actually. I think I can give those harlequin novels a run for their money._"

"Yeah, in the opposite direction. They'd probably pay you off to keep you quiet."

"_Oh fair maiden of the Enterprise. Wouldst thou come to my tent and ride me like a—_"

Jim chokes and coughs rapidly as her face grows red. "Jan! Oh my _God_. Shut up, I'm at Spock's! He can hear everything your saying, you idiot."

"_Oh my God. Oh God. Um. Hi—hello Commander Spock. Um. I, uh—I'm so sorry. I don't—I hope I didn't like offend you or anything. I just—uh, I completely respect your fiancée and her incredible body and I would never do anything that she hadn't wanted or begged for or we haven't discussed or created a safe word for—"_

Spock lifts a brow as he looks at Jim.

Jim groans and hides her face in her free hand. "You can really shut up, Jan. Anytime now. Really."

"_Um, yeah, of course. I'll just uh—I'll see you when you get here. Rand out._"

Jim sighs and snaps the communicator shut.

Spock allows her a few moments of peace before he remarks, "He referred to you as my fiancée."

Jim rolls her eyes with another heady sigh. "He knows about the bond and he's got it in his head that we're like legit engaged and everything. Which is _kind _of true but not." She takes a moment to shrug. "He won't stop calling me your fiancée. I think it like thrills him or something. Like he's sneaking around with a married woman or some crazy fantasy like that. If you ask me, he reads too many seedy romance novels," she explains.

"Indeed," Spock murmurs with a slight frown.

"So, um, yeah," Jim stands and pats I-Chaya one final time. "I'm going to get going and pretend like this hasn't been a day filled with awkward conversations. I'll catch you on the flipside." She pauses. "Oh, and before I forget. Older you said we could still take him up on those sessions if we wanted. I'm game if you are. We'd have to start as soon as tomorrow though."

"It will not conflict my schedule," Spock assures.

"Good."

Spock stands and sees her to the entrance of his marquee.

Jim exits with slight smile and heads toward the Enterprise camp with bare feet.

Spock follows her with his eyes until she is no longer visible. He turns back to his table and sets to work with clearing it of the cluttered mess that his captain has left behind. He finds Jim's shoes underneath, unsurprisingly, and he places them at the front of his marquee in case she returns for them at a later time.

After he gives I-Chaya an hour of his attention, he settles down on his bed and relaxes into a session of meditation.

There is much that needs sorting, and his emotions are the least of his troubles.

The very least.

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**LIEUTENANT HIKARU S SULU VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Jim,_

_Apparently Captain Daily and his crew brought along a traveling circus? _

_Like—really? _

_A traveling circus. _

_Yeah, I know. I'm thinking something too._

_Wanna check it out?_

_Hikaru_

(Five seconds later…)

**CORRESPONCE STARDATE 2253**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**LIEUTENANT HIKARU S SULU OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Sulu,_

_Hell. Yeah._

_Jim_

888

Jim meets Sulu sometime after midnight as they linger on the edge of the human camps, watching as boxcars and animal cages and huge tents are being beamed onto the surface of New Vulcan and set up.

No really.

It's a literal circus/carnival set up—from concession booths, to carnival game stands, a candy red Ferris wheel, and a huge tent sits in the midst of it all with black and yellow stripes.

"Where's Rand?" Sulu asks as they watch a mixture of officers infiltrate the carnival/circus with enthusiasm.

Jim smirks as she thinks about how she left him all tied up on his bed and blissfully fucked-out. She'd _totally _meant to punish him for embarrassing her in front Spock, but well, one thing led to another and the plan kind of change into something a little kinkier.

By the time she was done, Rand wasn't able to move an inch.

Sulu grins amusedly and says, "Do I want to know what's up with that face?"

Jim laughs and replies, "Maybe not. But even if he could, he wouldn't have. He's hilariously scared of clowns. But don't tell him I said it like that."

Sulu snorts. "Pasha's scared of them too. He muttered something about them being a bad omen in Russia or whatever," he says.

"Oh. So you've been in _Pasha's _tent this whole time?" Jim quips as she raises an eyebrow at him.

"Nope. Not playing that game," Sulu mutters as he begins to walk towards the circus/carnival.

"Awe, come on! You're no fun," Jim exclaims as she jogs after him. When she catches up, she loops her arm with his. "Be my date then. And let's win our respective others some big fuzzy animals."

"Sounds like a plan," Sulu decides as he tugs her in the direction of a stand with the game of ring toss.

The carny working this stand only speaks in rapid French and his body is littered with tattoos that signify each part of the galaxy he's been too.

Sulu wins a huge red furry and stuffed Bengal tiger off the guy in six perfect tosses.

The French carny huffs and puffs and curses Sulu to high heaven.

Jim and Sulu laugh about it as they hop from game stand to game stand, trumping each one and winning all the major prizes.

They eventually give it all to some guy named Phil, who promises to watch their earnings until they are ready to leave.

When they've mastered all the stands, they spend their time going through the exotic animal sections, where there are a variety of species being caged—from Andorian bulls to Kryonian tigers—there was virtually all manner of fascinating breeds you could think of.

After they ride the candy red Ferris wheel eight consecutive times, they grab some cotton candy and go to the edge of the carnival/circus, where they find a small grey boxcar with a graphic painting of some lounging mermaids.

The Bajoran twins (male and female) standing on the end of it motions them over.

"What's all this?" Sulu asks when Jim is too busy stuffing her face with green cotton candy, flavored like sour green apples.

"Mermaids, sir," the female twin says.

"From the Golos Prime," adds the male twin.

"Golos Prime—that's deep space isn't it?" Sulu supposes with a curious frown.

The Bajoran twins say nothing, and just blink.

Jim chews and licks at her sticky fingers. "I want to see—um, how many are there?"

"Just the one, miss," the male twin answers. "Just the one."

"She is old. But beautiful. You would never know," the female twin says.

"Well I'm sold," Jim decides, shoving more cotton candy in her mouth. "Coming?"

Sulu nods and they begin to climb the squeaking wooden steps leading up to an open door.

Jim carefully steps into the boxcar and maneuvers around the velvet curtains hanging from the ceiling and walks all the way to the back.

There is a wide glass tank full of milky turquoise water lying in wait.

Jim huddles in close to the glass and squints her eyes to see what she can make out.

Sulu does the same thing.

Suddenly a mermaid covered in black opaque scales appears and kisses the glass where Sulu's nose is.

"Whoa!" Sulu jumps back, startled.

Jim laughs joyously as she watches the beautiful creature swim loops in her tank.

She has a long fish tail, webbed hands, gills along her swan-like neck and a full head of thick purple hair.

"I wonder what her name is," Jim murmurs as Sulu presses in close again.

"If you want my name, child," the creature says in a watery voice that rings clear like the toll of a bell. "You need only to ask."

Jim blinks in surprise. "You can—understand me?"

"What an unnecessary question," the creature remarks as she swims backwards. "Are you not able to understand me?"

"Right," Jim vaguely replies as she watches her in fascination. "What's your name?"

"We do not own titles on my world. But my caretakers have used their liberty to call me Ianthe," Ianthe replies. She swims up to Jim and eyes her with grey fish eyes. "How do they call you?"

"Jim."

Ianthe looks to Sulu. "And you?"

"Hikaru."

"Strange names," Ianthe remarks as she cocks her head. "Strange names for strange faces. What brings you here?"

"Just wandering around," Jim admits. "I hope we aren't bothering you. I feel bad now."

"As opposed to before when you thought I hadn't a brain or capable of linear thought?" Ianthe counters, but not unkindly. "It is fine. I am used to as much."

"You must hate it," Sulu says as he watches her float. "Being hauled from place to place. How much do you travel?"

"The traveling is endless. We travel three months at a time. We have no transport of our own, so we find what we can and go where we please," Ianthe explains. She presses her webbed hand to the glass.

"How often do you go to Earth?" Sulu questions suddenly.

"Not nearly as often as currently, but often enough. Perhaps even more than before," Ianthe replies and swims away.

"What about in the last two years?" Sulu asks. "How many times have you been to Earth?"

Jim frowns and looks at Sulu sharply, understanding where he's going with this.

"Fourteen cycles of three months," Ianthe answers before she quiets altogether.

Sulu stares after her for a long moment before he says, "You wanna pen that down for coincidence or should we jump straight to assumptions?"

"Assumptions," Jim retorts in kind. She looks to Sulu. "That narrows down the where."

"Disturbingly enough," Sulu agrees. "We could've been talking to him at anytime tonight and not even know it."

Jim feels sick. "Let's just—wait a bit more. See what Bones and Uhura have to say before we know for sure," she says in a low tone.

Sulu nods wordlessly and they exit the boxcar.

With some quick goodbyes, they go their separate ways and Jim ventures off on her own. She trashes her cotton candy stick outside of a bedazzled orange tent that smells of tealeaves and oil.

There is a crotchety old woman in deep robes of silk and with an abundance of jewelry hanging about her. Her salt and pepper hair is braided into two French braids with feathers intertwined in them. She's rocking silently in a creaking rocking chair as she puffs away at a long pipe. She looks like a gypsy.

The sign above her head reads: _Madame Sekhmet_

"The winds have blown you this way, yes?" the old woman murmurs under a breathe of smoke. Her voice is deep and husky.

Jim frowns and looks around, but sees that she's not talking to anyone else. "Um—there's no wind blowing."

"Ah, but the winds of fate often blow unaware," the old woman replies as she struggles to her feet. She's amazingly tall for someone as frail looking as her. "You come inside, and I'll tell you where the winds are blowing you to, yes?"

"Yeah," Jim drawls and makes a face. "I appreciate the offer. But I'll have to pass. I'm really tired. It's almost five a.m. and I've got to get up at nine to start my day so—"

"You need not waste your excuses on me, James Tiberius Kirk."

Jim falters and acts surprised. The old lady must have read about her or watched some special, but clearly she was going to try and work that mysterious angle. She decides to play along. "How do you know me?"

"Madame Sekhmet knows all," she chuckles. "You come."

Jim watches the old gypsy woman disappear into the folds of her tent. She really wasn't lying when she said she was tired. "Five minutes," she mutters to herself. The old lady must not have much to do—the least she can do is humor her. "Five minutes and then I'm gone."

Madame Sekhmet is lighting some incense and candles to set the mood.

Jim snorts and plops down on a plush pillow on the other side of a level table with a crystal ball. She refrains from rolling her eyes but silently commends the old lady on her showmanship.

Madame Sekhmet shuffles a deck of tarot cards as she seats herself on the opposite side of the table. "Now," she murmurs. "Shall I tell you your future—or your past?"

Jim raises both eyebrows and says, "Well that's different. A fortune teller that gives you the option of going forward or falling back."

"I am unlike anyone you will ever meet, darling," Madame Sekhmet smoothly replies as her eyes glimmer. "So what's it to be?"

"Um. Either one, I guess," Jim says truthfully.

Madame Sekhmet leans forward and peers into her crystal ball, muttering to herself. "I see murder," she says. "Murder most fowl."

"You don't say," Jim says as she looks around.

"I see terror and anger and blood and sand," Madame Sekhmet continues, unaware of Jim's disinterest. She pulls a card free from the stack and it's a picture of a man on a thrown with a crown and a sword pointing up. At the bottom it reads '_justice'_. "I see a man. A terrible man. His eyes are made of fire. He's angry."

Jim stiffens as an uncomfortable feeling unfurls in her gut.

"Yes—I see a man. He is a wanderer—searching," Madame Sekhmet says as she widens her gaze. "Oh my poor dear." She lifts her gaze and looks at Jim directly. "When the winter solstice hits, you shall be struck down by the one you so condemned."

Jim scrambles to her feet. She doesn't want to hear anymore.

Madame Sekhmet's creepy cackling follows her all the way out and stalks Jim back to Rand's tent.

Jim shudders and tosses the ridiculously large stuffed Klingon octopus she collected from Phil onto the floor before she curls up to Rand on his bed.

Rand grunts, pulls her close, and buries his nose into her neck before he stills into his sleep again.

Jim is wide-eyed and miserable for the rest of the night.

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CMO LEONARD H MCCOY VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Jim,_

_Uhura and I nabbed some names and managed to narrow it down to three possibilities._

_Doctor Sullivan Lake_

_Doctor Anton Karidian_

_Doctor Anya Dasgupta_

_We'll keep looking into it. One of them has to be the one. _

_I'll keep you posted if we come to something._

_In the meantime, stay out of trouble._

_McCoy_

888

Jim blows out an irate breath as she wipes the sweat from her brow.

This is hard.

Harder than she thought it would be.

It's been three days now—which means they have, had three sessions.

Spock, ever the expert, seems to be transitioning with little difficulty.

Jim, however, not being native to Vulcan and the ways of Surak, nor a fully successful psionic being, is doing _very _poorly in these sessions.

Prime Spock, the awesome and patient mediator/teacher that he is, is doing his very best to school her in the ways of raising mental shields in her mind by simple means.

Three sessions in his marquee and she still hasn't mastered it like she was so sure she could.

Jim sits across from Spock on the other side of Prime Spock's level table. There is a chessboard between them (a distraction) so as to teach her the art of mental multitasking.

Here's the thing—Jim sits there, always a sweaty and frustrated mess as her First Officer probes at her mind while she does her best to effectively block his mental roaming, all the while trying to trump him in chess and strike up a casual conversation.

Only, at the end of those four hours and several rounds of chess (all of which Jim loses horridly), she's no closer to figuring this whole mental shield/wall thing any sooner than she was before.

Prime Spock, in that highly sophisticated intellectual way of his, keeps reminding her to be patient and be as attuned to herself as she possibly can. He is aware that she is fully capable of doing more than any normal human can since she has before (what with invading Spock's mind without him initiating a meld that one time).

"Yeah but that was an accident," Jim whines as she fans at herself and glares spitefully at the chessboard. "I don't even remember how I did it."

"You are remarkably adept. I am confident in your abilities," Prime Spock says as he continues to circle them with a thoughtfully watchful air.

Spock maintains his silence as he checks her in less than three moves and probes at her memories without ever batting an eye.

Jim lifts her spiteful glare to him and tries to push against the feeling, but she shudders as the mental touch sends comforting sparks down her spine and loops ribbons of consolation through the teeth of her ribcage. "Stop that," she mutters.

"I apologize," Spock states (sounding anything but) as he straightens his shoulders in satisfaction of his small victory. "But you are not providing a challenge."

Jim shoots him an accusatory look that is ignored. "I can't exactly concentrate on beating you and blocking you, all the while keeping up a casual conversation," she fusses.

"You have asked for these lessons—therefore your complaints hold no merit," Prime Spock points out, but soothes the bite in the remark by offering her a miniature basket of strawberries.

Spock shoots his older counterpart a disturbed look of disapproval. "Is that wise?" he questions.

"They will cause her no harm," Prime Spock notes with an amused twitch of his lips. He glances at his younger counterpart fleetingly. "They are a synthetic water-based fruit. The taste and texture are much like their counterparts, but lack the very substances that may cause Jim's allergies to flare."

Spock says nothing, but his expression still looks disagreeable.

"This isn't working. I can't block him and do a million other things," Jim grumbles with a long-suffering sigh. "I think he doesn't want me to succeed."

"That is an irrational notion, James," Prime Spock retorts, eyes warming with his humor. "He does not have to be compliant to the situation, and yet, he is here, willingly."

"So? Doesn't change the fact that he hates me."

"The '_he_' to whom you referis currently present," Spock reports stoically as he darts his gaze between Jim and his older counterpart. "And I do not _'hate you'_."

"You do."

"I do not."

"You do. That's why you're winning. You're fueled by your hatred for me."

Spock stares at her for a long moment, and it's clear that he's having a silent debate with himself about the sensibleness in his choice of electing to be her First Officer and friend willingly. After a minute pause, he focuses his attention to the board and resets all the pieces.

"Eat your strawberries, Jim," Prime Spock murmurs, biddably.

Jim grumbles but she takes a greedy bite. She glances at Spock, who is still preparing the board, and she licks the spaces between her fingers, tongue chasing after the juices sliding into the crevices of her fingers and down her hand. She knows it's petty and that she's acting like a little brat, but she doesn't care.

The effect is almost immediate.

Spock goes a bit green, despite the fact that his focus is supposed to be on the board and he's looking nowhere near her.

Jim smirks and feels vindictively proud to garner that reaction—but it lasts only a moment because Prime Spock sends her look of amused disapproval that manages to make her feel guilty all the same. She sighs with an eye roll and wipes her fingers against the front of her green overall shorts.

"It's still not fair," she says. "I'm at a disadvantage."

"He is acclimatized with his mind," Prime Spock agrees as he begins to circle them again. "This permits him to circumnavigate and secure his own mental facilities. You need only to guard your mind, James, to accomplish the privacy you seek."

Jim frowns thoughtfully as she leans forward and twists the chessboard so that she's white this time and he's black.

"You must find a place of which to center yourself," Prime Spock reminds her, as he has many times before in their previous sessions. "What keeps you calm? What offers you peace?"

Jim makes the first move as she thinks. An image comes to mind—it's her brother and her sisters, and their smiling faces. The very thought of them being safe and happy—of growing up in a stable home with loving parents—that keeps her content. If being out here like this—if navigating her way through space and time keeps them and their world safe—she'd do it a billion times over.

Jim builds a wall around that thought—contains it—guards it.

Spock moves a pawn before he begins to probe his way into her mind.

Jim wavers, so used to giving in to the feeling, but she slams the wall up and holds her ground, all the while moving her knight.

Spock glances at her with an indecipherable look as his mental presence loops back and forth in front of her wall, testing it, probing for vulnerable pockets. "She has raised an effective shield," he notes, sounding just a tiny bit impressed.

Prime Spock's eyes gleam with a smile. "Doubtlessly," he counters. "Now I urge you to challenge it to the best of your capabilities, so that we may know the durability and strength of it."

"What?" Jim exclaims with defensive annoyance as she glares at them both. "I just stitched it together. Now you want him to beat against it like a drum?"

"I am confident in your abilities to maintain," Prime Spock eases. "This is necessary."

Jim grudgingly consents as she moves another pawn. She tightens the wall as well as she can, preparing herself. "Okay," she decides. "I'm ready."

"I am given to understand that you are acquainted with I-Chaya," Prime Spock remarks, striking up a bit of conversation, but Jim knows this is a ploy to test her concentration.

"Yes," Jim confirms and fidgets when Spock presses in and falters when her shield remains steady. "She really is a big softie—a bit pushy like someone I know," she says as she moves another pawn and gives her First Officer a look that he counters with a raised brow.

"I-Chaya has a will of her own," Spock decides. "I have no influence in that."

"Doubtful," Jim counters. She blinks twice as she feels him prod at her shields and her fingers twitch against the urge to waver. So far she's doing good, and she keeps reminding herself of that. "I would've liked to see her when she was a little thing."

"It is fortunate that you have not," Spock remarks and moves his rook in a clever direction that has her rethinking all of her future plans for the current game. "She was ill-tempered, and had no patience for company outside of my own."

"Is that so?" Jim murmurs with a distracted tone. Her fingers hover above one of her pawns and she frowns thoughtfully as Spock tests the firmness of her shield, forcing her to divide her attention. She sighs and uses the back of her hand to swipe her damp brow dry. When she moves a pawn, he does not hesitate to take it (a necessary sacrifice on her part, really). She notices with a subtle perk of her shoulders that she can have Spock checked in seven moves or less if she's careful enough. "I'm glad she's more friendly now. I have to admit," she goes on to say. "Once I got over my initial fear of being food—I fell in love."

"I must reiterate that you were never in threat of being consumed," Spock states as his dark eyes remains fixed on the board. He watchfully moves one of his own chess pieces.

"So she's never eaten like—a person or anything?" Jim presses as she moves her king a few spaces forward. She lets her hold on the mental wall go and waits.

"No," Spock merely replies with an even tone. "I-Chaya harbors a specific diet that allows her to eat primarily bi-monthly and maintain her appetite." His dark eyes lift and he studies her for a moment.

"What?" Jim asks when the look he gives her doesn't falter.

The mental probe Spock does in the next moment feels searching, and it prods at every angle until, when he realizes he can no longer find a way inside, withdraws. "Fascinating," he observes. "Your mind has become impermeable."

"Has it?" Jim questions carefully as they stare at each other. She keeps her expression neutral, even though she feels giddy and proud of her accomplishment on the inside. "Can you not guess what I'm feeling or—just nothing?"

"I can not," Spock calmly admits. Though, there is a moment where he tries again, then withdraws completely once more when he sees it is the same as before. His dark brown eyes examine her with something like intrigue and surprised regard. "You are unusually proficient."

Jim's mouth wiggles into a grin at the vague compliment as she moves another one of her chess pieces and says, "Check."

Spock's brow furrows and his gaze lowers as he scrutinizes the board. "Indeed," he notes with barely perceptible wonder. He spends the next few moments observing the board in silence, as if to find where he could have went wrong.

Jim waits patiently and quietly preens. She would have been able to do this days ago if she had just figured out how to guard her mind as she does now. Now she can take Spock down without worrying about him reading her moves right from her mind.

Wordlessly, Spock reaches forward and with careful grace, sets up for a new game.

It takes Jim nine consecutives games (five she's won and four she hasn't) before she's forced to realize that Prime Spock (the utterly sneaky Vulcan that he is) has long since left them to their own devices. She pulls away from her concentration and searches his marquee for him as Spock sets up for yet another game, and she sees that he is nowhere in sight.

"Now where could you have gone to?" she mutters.

Spock glances at her with an inquisitive frown.

Jim plops the last strawberry she has in her mouth and chews. "Older you isn't here anymore," she points out after a brief swallow.

Spock doesn't blink, but he does fix his attention back to the board. "I am aware," he simply states. And really? Since when? "He departed once I verified I could no longer sense nor intrude your mind."

"Well I didn't notice. You should have said something."

"I did not believe it required your attention," Spock reports. "You were otherwise preoccupied."

"You mean I was beating you at chess for the millionth time," Jim laughs and wipes her sticky red fingers against the front of her overall shorts.

Spock watches the action with a hint of disapproval before he replies, "That is a fictitious estimate. We have not played a million times. We have only played one hundred and seventeen times. The majority of which I have won."

"_Only _because you had me at a disadvantage," Jim smartly points out as she taps at her temple. "_Now _you don't and I am kicking your ass."

Spock looks momentarily affronted. "I do not believe—"

"Illogical human euphemism," Jim interjects with a fond eye roll, already knowing what he was going to say.

Spock's mouth straightens into a solemn line. "Euphemisms denote expressions that are considered too harsh or blunt," he clarifies. "Yours has the tendency to be the exact opposite."

"Awe, what's the matter, Mr. Spock? You don't like my euphemisms?"

"Not solely."

"Well, it's a package deal, you know," Jim supposes as she drums her fingers against the slight swell of her chin. "You should hear Bones's though. You'd definitely prefer mine over his."

"Perhaps," Spock remarks with a barely perceptible amusement.

"Do you like chess?" Jim asks curiously. They still haven't started their next game. "You're so good at it. I can't tell whether it's because you've played a lot or it's because you're just—_you._"

"I enjoy it," Spock concedes. "My father and mother often played." He lowers his gaze to the board as he goes on to explain, "When I was old enough, they included me in these games as well. It is—a fond memory I hold."

Jim leans forward against the edge of the table with her forearms. "That's really cool—to have memories like that." She waits until they make eye contact before she continues, "I wish I could have some good memories like that. I mostly just played by myself. And it wasn't until I went to Starfleet Academy did I play with other people—but that was mostly competitions, you know. I mean I played with Bones, but only after I nagged him into doing it. He was always such a sore loser that I never got to enjoy it." She sighs thoughtfully and shakes her head in a 'what can you do?' kind of way. "But I like this."

"This?"

"Us—playing," Jim clarifies as she nods to the board. "It's the most fun I ever had with it because you're an actual challenge. Not to mention an actual friend."

Spock says nothing, but he doesn't seem to disagree with what she's saying.

"So, you think that's it?" Jim questions as she watches him make the first move. "We don't need to do these sessions anymore, I mean."

"I do not believe it is necessary given the circumstances," Spock replies and waits until she moves a pawn before he moves one of his.

"And what is the circumstance?"

"You are efficiently able to block me."

Jim hums thoughtfully as she wiggles her bare toes. She says, "Can I ask you something?"

Spock glances up and looks at her quietly with a carefully blank face.

"Promise not to get defensive?"

Spock merely frowns.

"Something's been bothering you," Jim says as she eyes him for a long moment. "Don't even ask me how I know, because I'm not even sure how I do—I just do." She shrugs meagerly. "So what is it?"

Spock says nothing for a while, his dark eyes fixed on their unfinished game in silence. "The construction for the Vulcan Science Academy is underway," he begins. "It has been noted, with some grievance, that the institution will be short of capable instructors since the separation has cost the obtainability of qualified minds. In light of this fact, I have been offered a position as head of the xenopology department."

Jim feels a quiet anger ignite in her gut and she tries to keep it at bay as she combs her long blonde bangs from her eyes and calmly asks, "Will you accept it?"

"I am still deliberating," Spock admits, not unaware of the tone of upset laced in Jim's voice. "Accepting the position would inevitably force me to resign my position as First Officer. But there are limited sustainable options for my replacement, were I to decline the offer extended to me."

Jim suddenly doesn't want to play chess anymore. "I forfeit," she mutters and stands.

Spock's brow furrows as he watches her yank on her shoes in an unhappy manner. "You are troubled—as I have surmised you would be."

"Nope, I'm fine," Jim denies as she ties her shoes. "I couldn't be more—" She huffs as she straightens. "You know what? You should just accept the position. They obviously need you if they went out of their way to personally ask you, even knowing you already had responsibilities. But hey, whatever. It's fine. It's totally fine. I can just—find someone else to fill in your position and it'll be—fine."

Spock studies her for a long moment and it makes her fidget. "You are sure?" he questions as he rises to his feet. "This will not inconvenience you?"

Jim blinks as she chews her bottom lip and she wants to laugh and cry at the same time. "No," she manages to say. "If it's what you want to do, then I'll fully support your decision." _But if I could make you stay, I would, _she silently adds. "Just be sure to—get your paperwork in and let me know for sure what you will do."

"Of course, Captain," Spock agrees, and he seems pleased somehow.

It infuriates Jim. "Right. Well I'm going to get out of your hair now. I, uh—" _Am probably going to go sulk about this. Haven't I been good to you? I thought—_Jim viciously cuts off her line of thinking. "I'll do some more research on Kodos and that circus/carnival thing. See if I might have missed something."

"I will endeavor to do the same," Spock replies.

Jim doesn't bother saying goodbye. She turns her back to him and bites down on her bottom lip until she tastes blood.

The pain is nothing compared to the thought of losing Spock as her First Officer.

What a fucking mess.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_My nerves are fried. Forgive my stumbling blunders. Writing is intensely hard and I'm trying to give you guys the best of the best._

_:( _

_Reviews, comments, and questions are fantastic encouragement for my muse, and greatly appreciated._

_Ciao. I'm off to six flags._


	6. Chapter 6

**WARNING: **

**PAY ATTENTION TO THE DATES. THANKS BABES.**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE**

**HIGH PRIORITY**

**STARDATE 225309.30**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**ADMIRAL BARNETT OF CALIFORNIA, EARTH**

_Admiral Barnett,_

_I am dying—or it feels like a version of it. Dr. McCoy says it's called the Cardassian Flu, but I call it standing at the gates of hell._

_Am I over-exaggerating? Most likely. But this does not feel good._

_I was one of the first people to start exhibiting the symptoms at least a good six days after I came into contact with the source, which happens to be a pair of carney twins from Bajor. _

_It's spread like gossip to every single human in the camp._

_Fret not, though—we've got this under control._

_Okay, I don't, because I can barely make it four feet without yakking my guts up._

_Too much information? Probably._

_Our Vulcan neighbors are showing a form of kindness by helping us out and so on and so forth._

_I've gone ahead and advised Dr. McCoy to send you a more detailed report. I'm gonna go and lay down now because I feel this virus starting to reach critical condition._

_Feel free to send some questions my way if you want to know anything more. I might have forgotten to include something, but you will let me know. Hopefully I'll be in my right mind to accommodate those questions._

_We'll see._

_Regards,_

_James T. Kirk_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.01**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CMO LEONARD H MCCOY OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Bones,_

_Help me out._

_Do the thing._

_Admiral Barnett needs a report and I don't think I did good._

_Appreciating you,_

_Jim_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.01**

**CMO LEONARD H MCCOY VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Jim,_

_You are a pain. Don't you think I'm suffering as much as you? I could hear your whining as clear as day in that message._

_I'll take care of it, brat._

_McCoy_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.01**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CMO LEONARD H MCCOY OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Dr. Grumpy,_

_(Hugs+kisses)gratitude x 10^27 ;)_

_Your goddess,_

_JTK_

**STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE**

**HIGH PRIORITY**

**STARDATE 2253.10.01**

**CMO LEONARD H MCCOY VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**ADMIRAL BARNETT OF CALIFORNIA, EARTH**

_Admiral Barnett,_

_Sir, I am informing you of a little incident that just so happens to be occurring on New Vulcan in the human camps as we speak. The majority of our officers, including myself, have contracted the Cardassian Flu, which I believe was initially brought by Captain Daily's stowaways, a set of Bajoran twins, who admitted to having recently traveled among the Cardassia Prime._

_Now while the situation has gotten out of hand, it is still appropriately contained. Our Vulcan counterparts have stepped in and volunteered their assistance, though I fear that most of them don't know as much about the human anatomy anymore than a chimpanzee would. Pardon my comparison but that's just the way I see it. I'm not saying we aren't grateful, because we are, but my medical staff and I have to use what little energy we have left to assemble a list of do's and don'ts for them if we're all going to be seeing this little inconvenience through._

_Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Commander Sulu were one of the first people to start to develop the symptoms before it started to spread like wildfire throughout the rest of the ranks. I'm told they were recently in the presence of the Bajoran twins, whom the source of the virus is found. The virus has impaired Captain Daily and his crew as well. _

_Our Vulcan counterparts have been assigned to each officer's tent, one to two per sick person, as a temporary set up until we can get the virus out of our systems. The effects of the Cardassian Flu are lost on them and their overall physiology, meaning they aren't in threat of contracting anything from us while they assist us in this matter. Everyone has been separated, and contact has been cut off for the greater good. It seems that the effects of the virus escalates in the presence of equally infected individuals._

_I suspect that for the next two weeks, we'll all be fighting off this thing. Its effect on humans is much like a mixture of the stomach flu, the common cold, and food poisoning. Now since the virus and its anatomical makeup constantly changes, there's no known cure, which also means that none of our medicine would work to speed along the healing process. Our bodies will just have to do what it does best and mend itself. We'll all just have to ride it out with some chicken soup, a bucket, tissues, and lots of sleep. But as a consequence, the construction of Nu Shi'Kahr will be greatly slowed in productivity—what with the lack of extra hands and all. _

_If you have any questions about the situation, please feel free to message me directly. Though I'll be honest, since I'm sick as well, I can't promise I'll be as much as in my right mind then as much as I am currently. _

_Dr. McCoy_

**STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE**

**HIGH PRIORITY**

**STARDATE 2253.10.02**

**ADMIRAL BARNETT VIA CALIFORNIA, EARTH**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

**CC: LEONARD MCCOY**

_Captain Kirk & Doctor McCoy,_

_You've made the situation pretty clear. I'm confident you are operating in the right means to combat this unexpected setback._

_Just concentrate on feeling better._

_Best wishes,_

_Admiral Barnett_

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.03**

**COMMANDER SPOCK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CMO LEONARD MCCOY OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Dr. McCoy,_

_As you may already know, I have__ taken the responsibility of looking after Captain Kirk, so as to save her the trouble of being tended to by someone who may not treat her kindly or pay heed to her numerous allergies._

_This arrangement is not going as efficiently as I have surmised. She is refusing my help and I am concerned that it will delay her recovery. She appears to be upset with me for reasons unknown._

_Since you are her physician, perhaps there is some information you can provide._

_Commander Spock_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.03**

**CMO LEONARD MCCOY VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**COMMANDER SPOCK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Spock,_

_Jimmy's giving you a hard time, huh? _

_Yeah, she'll do that. She's a real brat when she's sick. I don't know what to tell you. I usually just dose her with sedatives. They tend to make her more agreeable, but you're not gonna want to go that way this time. I doubt she would appreciate it either, and it would only land you in hot water._

_Jim can be unreasonably stubborn when she wants to be._

_And FYI, I heard from a little birdy that you were contemplating a job offer that would take you away from the Enterprise for an indefinite amount of time. You ever stop to think that, that might be the reason she's pissed at you?_

_Just a thought._

_McCoy_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.03**

**COMMANDER SPOCK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CMO LEONARD MCCOY OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Dr. McCoy,_

_I thank you for your advice. _

_As for the job offer, I believe you are mistaken. The Captain has assured me that she is indifferent to any decision I should make in regards to accepting or declining._

_Commander Spock_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.03**

**CMO LEONARD MCCOY VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**COMMANDER SPOCK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Spock,_

_Boy, you sure have a lot to learn about women. They say one thing and mean the exact opposite. Trust me, I learned that the hard way. And I'm not even talking about Jim anymore. I'm talking ALL women._

_If she's really being stubborn, I suggest you talk to your older counterpart. __You'd probably have better luck with asking the older version of yourself for some tips and easy tricks. He seems to know a thing or two—no matter if his methods are shady to me._

_McCoy_

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.03**

**COMMANDER SPOCK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**ELDER SELEK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_You are familiar with an alternate version of Captain Kirk. I am seeking your counsel on this matter in hopes that you may provide me with the proper solution. I have__ taken the responsibility of looking after Jim, so as to save her the trouble of being tended to by someone who may not treat her kindly._

_For the past three point four eight days that she has occupied my marquee and my bed, she has refused my help. She instead glares at me without ever uttering a word. She is also quite fond of concealing herself under the comforters of my bed, so as to avoid addressing me entirely. Since she is able to block me, I have no way of knowing how she feels or what she may need._

_This arrangement is not going as efficiently as I have surmised. She is behaving insufferably. _

_What would you propose?_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.03**

**ELDER SELEK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**COMMANDER SPOCK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_James does possess a habit of being disagreeable when she is suffering from a particularly harsh illness. This is something I have experienced many times before. It is the discomfort that forces her to behave in such a way. You must maintain your patience—I believe she may be purposefully goading you in efforts to make you empathetic to her plight._

_In order to make her more amenable, I advise you simply ask her what she desires and meet those needs to the best of your abilities. She has a weakness for being pampered when she is ill. I believe she enjoys being coddled, however, you should not profess this to her. She would simply refuse all of your good intentions if you do._

_For future reference, you should note that the more she complains indicates the amount of pain she is in or the discomfort she is experiencing. And the more docile she behaves, merely signifies that you are meeting her needs to the best of your capability and she is satisfied by these efforts._

_Also, James favors dark chocolates when she is indisposed. Providing her with some will, as well, offer desirable effects on her temperament. _

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.04**

**COMMANDER SPOCK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**ELDER SELEK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_I have utilized your advice and she has responded favorably._

_I assured her that I would procure any and all items she may request. She then demanded a number of things, all objects that seemed ill suited to promoting her recovery—though I suspect she was challenging the truth of my statement._

_Once she detected my receptiveness to her demands, she became more cooperative and ceased refusing my aid. _

_Her mood has shown a positive increase, and she has complained very little._

_She consumed the lukewarm broth and tea I obtained for her after she consumed six pieces of chocolate pieces I bestowed to her, and she is currently resting—a feat of which I was unable to accomplish previously._

_Moreover, I have observed that Jim is prone to muttering incoherent dialogue, oftentimes addressing me directly, when she is unconscious. However, I do not believe it is a cause for concern. I am aware that humans retain this inexplicable characteristic. I believe it is labeled as 'talking in one's sleep'._

_If I should perceive a change I am unable to accommodate, I will seek your guidance once more._

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.05**

**ENSIGN PAVEL A CHEKOV VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**LIEUTENANT HIKARU S SULU OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Hikaru,_

_I am missing you._

_Pasha_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.05**

**LIEUTENANT HIKARU S SULU VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**ENSIGN PAVEL A CHEKOV OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Pasha,_

_I miss you too._

_Let's work on getting better, because I don't like this long distance thing anymore than you do._

_We can play dominoes in the mean time if you want._

_Hikaru_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.05**

**ENSIGN PAVEL A CHEKOV VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**LIEUTENANT HIKARU S SULU OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Hikaru,_

_Russia invented dominoes, so I am knowing a lot about this game._

_You must excuse me first. My Vulcan caretaker has insisted that I eat the food he brought._

_After this, we will play._

_Pasha_

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.06**

**CHIEF ENGINEER MONTGOMERY SCOTT VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Nyota,_

_Hello._

_Hope you're fairing better than I am at the moment._

_It's just that I was wondering if we were going to talk about what happened between us?_

_M. Scott_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.06**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CHIEF ENGINEER MONTGOMERY SCOTT OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Monty,_

_I'm fine. Well, despite being bed-ridden with an alien flu._

_Just give me time. We'll talk, I promise._

_I would rather do this face to face._

_Nyota_

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.07**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**COMMANDER SPOCK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Spock,_

_I want more pillows._

_And cough drops._

_I also need more tissue._

_JTK_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.07**

**COMMANDER SPOCK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Jim,_

_It is unnecessary for you to communicate with me through the use of our PADDs. We are currently within vicinity of each other._

_Nevertheless, I will procure those items for you._

_Spock_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.07**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**COMMANDER SPOCK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Spock,_

_I know, but my throat hurts and I don't feel like talking. Plus it is heavenly warm under your covers and I don't want to leave because that will be a chilly nightmare for me._

_Get me some more chocolate too while your at it._

_And more blankets._

_And I think I could really use a bucket because I might throw up._

_Also, on that note, get me some ginger ale too and some straws._

_If I'm getting on your nerves or bothering you, feel free to say so. I am spreading my nasty gross germs all over your place and I have put you out your bed for the past seven days after all._

_JTK_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.07**

**COMMANDER SPOCK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Captain,_

_You are unwell. _

_Therefore it would be unreasonable for me to hold feelings of contempt when you are physically unable to acquire these items yourself._

_As I have stated before, if you have need of anything, I will have no issue in sating them._

_Furthermore, I am not at risk of contracting the virus. It matters very little that you are occupying my bed with it. Again, it would be illogical for me to hold you accountable for the symptoms of your illness. I do not require my bed at this time. Vulcans have the ability to endure exactly sixteen days without sleep._

_The main focus is your recovery._

_Spock_

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.08**

**KENYA B UHURA VIA ACCRA, GHANA**

**UGOGO UHURA OF MANHATTAN, NEW YORK**

**CC: NYOTA UHURA, BADU UHURA,**

**DAMU PUA UHURA, M'UMBHA UHURA**

**AKOSUA UHURA, ENYONYAM UHURA,**

**LEONARD MCCOY, JAMES KIRK,**

**MONTGOMERY SCOTT, PAVEL CHEKOV,**

**SPOCK**

_To Family and Friends,_

_KUMTUKUZA BWANA! _

_IT'S A GIRL!_

_She is to be called Kamaria Nia Uhura._

_8 pounds - 4 ounces - 19 inches_

_(**picture can be viewed in LJ or AO3 accounts**)_

_Phew. Going to sleep now. Making humans is hard work. ;)_

_Love and love,_

_Kenya_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.08**

**COMMANDER SPOCK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**KENYA B UHURA OF ACCRA, GHANA**

_Kenya,_

_I congratulate you and your family on the safe arrival of your daughter._

_Captain Kirk would like for me to inform you that her well wishes are underway, but she is regrettably fatigued by her fever at the moment. However, you may be pleased to note that when she observed the picture of your child, she sustained an elated smile, which is still present now, even in her state of unconsciousness. _

_As we say among my people in such an occasion, "Kunli-i'fa'farr."_

_Spock_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.08**

**CMO LEONARD H MCCOY VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**KENYA B UHURA OF ACCRA, GHANA**

_Kenya,_

_She's as gorgeous as her mother. I'll contain my urge to ask all sorts of medical questions concerning your health and your daughter's and if the hospital you're checked into has any competent people._

_I know we talked about this before, but I'm still interested in studying your daughter's blood work. I just want to make sure things are on the up and up—considering who her paternal father was._

_If you notice or experience anything odd, let me know._

_Congratulations, and the next time I make it back to Earth, let's arrange a play date for Kamaria and Joanna. _

_Len McCoy_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.08**

**CHIEF ENGINEER MONTGOMERY SCOTT VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**KENYA B UHURA OF ACCRA, GHANA**

_Kenya,_

_Way to go, you! She is absolutely darling. To be honest, I think it's amazing that any woman can expel an actual human being from their innards. Fancy that! I've seen all kind of life forms and traveled the far reaches of space, and I still am baffled by children and their mothers! Oh well. Don't mind me. Keenser and I wish you all the best with your little pride and joy._

_M. Scott_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.08**

**ENSIGN PAVEL A CHEKOV VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**KENYA B UHURA OF ACCRA, GHANA**

_Kenya,_

_Nichego sebe, kakoy grandioznuyu novost'! Ya rad za vas!_

_Pasha_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.09**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA UHURA VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**KENYA B UHURA OF ACCRA, GHANA**

_Kenya,_

_Hongera! _

_Yote bora kwa wewe na wako mchanga. Kuwa na furaha na afya._

_I would keep going but I'm ill and I can't really say as much as I want to. But I ordered a little gift for you in celebration (it's that Pinot Grigio you like, and how wonderful is it that you can drink it now?) and make sure you let me know when you get it._

_Give my adorable little cousin some kisses for me, and keep those pictures coming!_

_Nyota_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.09**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**KENYA B UHURA OF ACCRA, GHANA**

_Kenya,_

_I AM SCREAMING ON THE INSIDE! HOMG!_

_I'm keeping that photo for my private stash. She is so cute. Does she have a special newsletter I can subscribe to and receive monthly pictures and updates?_

_Also, if you haven't picked a godmother for Kamaria, I volunteer. _

_I don't know if you heard or anything, but everyone here is swamped with the Cardassian Flu. It sucks lemons and dirty eggs. _

_Anyway, be on the look out. I had Spock talk to your brother, Badu, since I am in no condition to verbally and physically hold a conversation. But long story short, we arranged for a little something to be shipped to one of the local furniture stores and your brother will pick it up and bring it to you when it's ready to go. And yeah, I'm not saying what it is either—it has to be a surprise. No thanks are needed, this was nothing._

_And no matter what Spock might say, it's from BOTH of us, kay? He did more than help me pick it out and everything._

_Congratulations and blessings and so much more._

_JTK _

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.10**

**YEOMAN JANICE ACT RAND VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Captain Gorgeous,_

_Are you suffering as much as I am?_

_I am dying. _

_No exaggerations. _

_I'm pretty sure this is the end for me. I have to say that this is not how I envisioned dying. I always thought it'd be choking on a green jolly rancher. _

_So is your fiancé taking care of you or what? Is he giving you a sponge bath? ;)_

_My Vulcan caretaker's name is T'Mavar and she refuses to give me a sponge bath or play doctor with me since you can't. _

_Also, are you vomiting black goop too because WHAT THE FUCK?_

_Never had the Cardassian Flu before but I swear this is like horror movie. _

_We're not gonna turn into zombies or anything are we?_

_I Don't Want To Be A Zombie,_

_Yeomen Sexy_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.10**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**YEOMAN JANICE ACT RAND OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Yeomen Sexy,_

_Shut. Up._

_I will literally come find you and suffocate you with dental floss. I should show your message to Spock so he can see how wildly inappropriate your thoughts are of us. I doubt he would respond in a positive manner. _

_Hey did you know that your middle initials make the word ACT? Ha. Nerd joke._

_Dude. EVERYONE is throwing up black goop. That's just our bodies rejecting the virus._

_Once it's all gone, THEN we turn into zombies._

_I already know who's brain I want to eat first, how about you?_

_The Zombie Apocalypse is Nigh,_

_Captain Win_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.10**

**YEOMAN JANICE ACT RAND VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Captain Win,_

_OMFG PLEASE DON'T JOKE ABOUT THIS I WOULD RATHER EJECT MYSELF INTO THE SUN YOU KNOW I HAVE A LITERAL FEAR OF ZOMBIES OKAY. THAT IS A THING AND IT IS CALLED KINEMORTOPHOBIA. WEBSTER'S HAS DEFINED THE HELL OUT OF THAT SHIT AND IF YOU GO LOOK IT UP YOU WILL SEE MY HORRIFIED FACE AS A PICTURE OF EXAMPLE. _

_Voting No on Zombie Apocalypse,_

_Mr. Paranoid_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.10**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**YEOMAN JANICE ACT RAND OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Mr. Paranoid,_

_I'm rolling my eyes at you. I was only kidding._

_Now leave me be. I'm playing Super Mario Bros with Sulu and Chekov on my PADD and I'm totally kicking their asses. Wish I could see their faces. I bet they're getting totally pissed at me because I keep picking them up and tossing them into the lava. XDD_

_They only time they got the jump on me was that one time I had to stop and hurl my guts out for a good five minutes. _

_That doesn't count though—I am queen._

_Luigi is Better Than Mario,_

_Captain In-Your-Face_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.10**

**YEOMAN JANICE ACT RAND VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Captain In-Your-Face,_

_0.0_

_I. Want. In. _

_I am so bored. I wanna be on your team. Send me a game invitation. I've got the app already. _

_Here Comes the True King of Super Mario Bros,_

_Jan _

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Kirk,_

_How are you?_

_Uhura_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Uhura,_

_To be honest, a little surprised that you would ask._

_As for how I am, well, I'm getting closer to getting better but I still feel like a heap of cow dung._

_You?_

_Kirk_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Kirk,_

_I'm drowning in used tissues right now. And the Vulcan looking after me won't stop glaring every time I sneeze—as if I could help it._

_Uhura_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Uhura,_

_Tell your Vulcan to fuck off in their language._

_Kirk_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Kirk,_

_That would be endlessly rude—don't tempt me._

_But onto other subjects. Did Spock tell you about the job offer?_

_Uhura_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Uhura,_

_Well it's a good thing he did because otherwise you would've dropped the ball on that one._

_What about it anyway?_

_Kirk_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Kirk,_

_You're not serious._

_You told him his place was with us right? I mean, you talked him out of it?_

_I swear I will throttle you both if you don't stop being so thick._

_Uhura_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Uhura,_

_Spock's a GROWN VULCAN—he can do WHATEVER he wants._

_Kirk_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Kirk,_

_Did you just QUOTE a Beyoncé song at me?_

_Uhura_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Uhura,_

_. _

_. _

_…no._

_Kirk_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Kirk,_

_TALK some sense into him. You are the only one he will listen to._

_Deep down, I know you care about him as much as I do, and you know his absence sets off all levels of wrong._

_So put on your big girl heels and click your little blonde self right on up to him and tell him he can't go anywhere._

_Uhura_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Uhura,_

_Yeah…_

_…No._

_I'm gonna have to pass._

_Up for some Mortal Kombat?_

_I'll Go Easy On You,_

_Kirk_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Kirk,_

_Not interested. And don't think your slick by changing the subject._

_Uhura_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Uhura,_

_I don't know what you mean._

_And fine. I don't care if you don't want to play with me._

_You must know I'd win anyway. I heard from Scotty that you're pretty good, and since I beat him a million times, I was sure he'd say that about anybody._

_But like I said, it's cool. _

_Pick Your Battles,_

_Kirk_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.12**

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

_Kirk,_

_Send me an invite._

_You Will Eat Your Words,_

_Uhura_

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.14**

**LIEUTENANT COMMANDER HIKARU S SULU VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

**CC: PAVEL CHEKOV, MONTGOMERY SCOTT,**

**NYOTA UHURA, SPOCK,**

**JANICE RAND, LEONARD MCCOY,**

**CHRISTINE CHAPEL**

_Captain Kirk (and Co.),_

_I'm petitioning for a Halloween Party. _

_I think we could all use a little cheering up after that traumatizing experience._

_Here's to hoping we never have to go through that kind of bed-ridden virus ever again. _

_I also was thinking, with permission of course, that we create a kind of 'Holiday Committee' consisting of all who has received this notification. It would be cool if we could continue to plan for events and holiday in an attempt to create unity among the ranks and boost morale._

_The vote lies with you Captain Kirk and Commander Spock. What do you say?_

_Sulu_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.14**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**LIEUTENANT COMMANDER HIKARU S SULU OF NU SHI'KAHR**

**CC: SPOCK, PAVEL CHEKOV,**

**MONTGOMERY SCOTT, NYOTA UHURA,**

**JANICE RAND, LEONARD MCCOY,**

**CHRISTINE CHAPEL**

_Sulu,_

_Commander Spock and I are totally game._

_When should all of us meet to discuss this in further depth?_

_Kirk_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.14**

**LIEUTENANT COMMANDER HIKARU S SULU VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

**CC: PAVEL CHEKOV, MONTGOMERY SCOTT,**

**NYOTA UHURA, SPOCK,**

**JANICE RAND, LEONARD MCCOY,**

**CHRISTINE CHAPEL**

_Captain Kirk,_

_Awesome._

_I'm thinking the 18th would be the best time. Everyone can come to my marquee. _

_For anyone who doesn't know where my marquee is, message me and we'll get that sorted out._

_Sulu_

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.16**

**CMO LEONARD H MCCOY VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

**CC: PAVEL CHEKOV, MONTGOMERY SCOTT,**

**NYOTA UHURA, HIKARU SULU,**

**SPOCK**

_Jim,_

_We got our man._

_Uhura and I looked long and hard at our three suspects, and two of them didn't quite fit the bill—especially with the new information you gave us about the carnival/circus._

_A day ago, I called up to the last suspect's clinic and I got to talking to his personal secretary, Fiona Ray, real chatty Kathy that one, and she dished some pretty notable specifics. _

_Guy named Doctor Anton Karidian cancelled all his appointments out of the blue and travels to Andevian II, two weeks prior to when Kodos went missing. He stays there for an entire month—no contact with family and friends. He becomes virtually unreachable—weird for a guy who lives and breathes his communicator, right?_

_Here's the kicker._

_This guy comes back and floods his financial advisor with a ton of money, we're talking casino winnings—and he has the man divide it all evenly into all his bank accounts. Miss Fiona gets a hefty raise, his office is redesigned from the ground up and he gets a hell of a boost in his clientele. Now if that isn't suspect than I don't know what is._

_It gets better._

_For the next two years, he continually goes missing for a good month, every three months—never fails. Now if we match those dates with all the traveling dates of the circus/carnival, it's easy to see how well they coincide. The last time he left for his spontaneous (but not quite) getaway was the week before Captain Daily and his crew arrived here._

_Now that we got the guy, what's our next move?_

_McCoy_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.16**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CMO LEONARD H MCCOY OF NU SHI'KAHR**

**CC: SPOCK, PAVEL CHEKOV,**

**MONTGOMERY SCOTT, NYOTA UHURA,**

**HIKARU SULU**

_Bones,_

_You are made of win, you know that?_

_That is more than perfect._

_Okay—so we have something to work with._

_Here's what I'm thinking. _

_Sulu, Chekov, and Bones—I want the three of you to cross check Captain Daily's officers and all the members of the carnival/circus. Play close attention to their documents and paperwork. If you feel like there's something even a little bit off about anything, you red flag it._

_Uhura—I hope those drama classes you took in high school paid off (and yes I know about those. I am a stalker and I am not ashamed of that fact). I need you to call Ms. Fiona Ray and do whatever you need to do in order to speak personally with Doctor Anton Karidian. I think its time for him to have another one of his spontaneous trips again and lure him out this way. _

_I have faith you can get connected to him, and when you do, you need to say **exactly** this: "Dr. Karidian—can I call you Anton? My husband and I are celebrating three years of marriage and I wanted to do something a little risqué. I heard from a friend that you're the best at what you do. I understand you're booked up for the rest of the year, but if you can make an exception for me, there's blank check with your name on it, and I guarantee any number you jot down can be countered by a higher number if the work seems perfect enough. The only stipulation I have is that you meet me at the place of my choosing..."_

_Let me know immediately when he agrees._

_Scotty—I don't care what kind of favors you have to drum up with your old cronies, but find a contractor pilot that will be willing enough to transport Dr. Karidian from Earth to here without him being none the wiser. If they want money, I can come up out of pocket for it if that's what it takes, so long as they are tactful and reliable and know when to keep quiet._

_I'll be contacting Admiral Barnett to make him aware of the situation. Hopefully we can arrange for a prison transport to shuttle him back to the Gamma Quadrant to the Argrathi penitentiary. God—it pains me to even consider it because I'm all for frontier justice—but unless the situation dictates otherwise, this will be the course of action we take._

_If this plan is met with success, we should have Kodos out of our hair in the very near future._

_On a lighter note—I want you all to know that you are amazing and I'm in like with you and your faces are my favorite faces. I want you to be safe and careful, and know that I am appreciating everything that you are doing for me._

_Your Fearless Leader,_

_Kirk_

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253.10.18**

**CMO LEONARD H MCCOY VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

**CC: HIKARU SULU, PAVEL CHEKOV,**

**MONTGOMERY SCOTT, NYOTA UHURA,**

**SPOCK**

_Jim,_

_We can't quite get any reliable sources on the carnival/circus troupe. They're all sort of drifters in their own way, but we'll keep trying._

_In the mean time, we confirmed every Starfleet officer with us, and Captain Daily's crew, and compiled our findings in the list below._

_CONFIRMED OFFICERS__:_

_Twana Harvell / Alphonso Griffing / Milagro Amesquita _

_Celinda Master / Hershel Friday / Bennett Quebedeaux _

_Bobby Tindell / Timika Dumire / Georgia Witmer _

_Kit Malloy / Latesha Polak / Jerrie Lechler _

_Charlene Oberman / Teodora Yedinak / Riva Goshorn _

_Perla Schalk / Consuela Melnick / Cherie Schempp _

_Etha Schorr / Dinah Mcjunkin / Randall Earle _

_Larissa Pietrowski / Olimpia Weight / Chin Lepage _

_Annamarie Shattuck / Lizabeth Hering / Ali Holtman _

_Denise Wheat / Yi Twombly / Lexie Laber _

_Jacquline Maya / Elise Delaney / Dominique Breed _

_Ivey Krier / Tana Blumstein / Lindsay Spooner _

_Kylie Brent / Mayola Tempel / Dominick Nord _

_Alta Sutter / Orville Malave / Brittanie Gunderman _

_Paulina Socha / Kurtis Pullin / Rubi Bray _

_Thad Wink / Amira Mayson / Belva Gula _

_Inocencia Millward / Crystal Harger / Christy Colston _

_Christel Woodcock / Jarod Graziano / Thomas Pilger _

_Brain Beckel / Monet Nasser / Bibi Corrales _

_Rachele Shankle / Cletus Borger / Caroline Griffith _

_Bobbie Mccarty / Mariella Luke / Geri Stroman _

_Noe Bodnar / Adaline Stabile / Tabatha Younts _

_Jennifer Newhard / Holli Kumm / Elmo Saraiva _

_Bari Labarre / Serena Alam / Corey Fellows _

_Charlette Lebron / Roberta Sidoti / Simon Bunting _

_Charles Nader / Elijah Chapdelaine / Floy Bassham _

_Dona Farrington / Ashlie Sheaffer / Sid Pietila _

_Lorraine Germaine / Isabella Armer / Gisele Kopecky _

_Kina Ulm / Jene Amero / Melody Miyamoto _

_Estella Mateer / Young Penfold / Eleanora Boshart _

_Destiny Augusta / Babara Crabtree / Linh Badger _

_Katheryn Friddle / Walton Debartolo / Angila Skillman _

_Tammera Skelly / Lessie Mcmeen / Trista Lawless _

_Whitley Latorre / Lakiesha Meriwether / Warner... _

**_This message has been truncated due to length. To view in full, please download PDF attachment indicated by the link below._**

_McCoy_

888

**STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE**

**HIGH PRIORITY**

**STARDATE 2253.10.19**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA NU SHI'KAHR**

**ADMIRAL BARNETT OF CALIFORNIA, EARTH**

_Sir,_

_It is my strong belief, as well as the belief of the select few of my crew, that the escaped convict, Kodos (formally known as Governor to Tarsus IV) may, at present, be here on New Vulcan, in the company of Captain Daily's stowaway circus/carnival troupe. _

_I am seeking your permission to take further action. Below, you will find attached documents and evidence that I, with the assistance of Commander Spock and our crew, have gathered and compiled. The exact whereabouts of Kodos is inexplicably undeniable, and if you will allow us to proceed, we have the possibility of returning him to Argrathi penitentiary and into their custody once more. Once we have done such, I will outline in great detail the exact circumstances of the situation._

_By your leave, Admiral—I'm sure you are aware of what my history is with Kodos, but I'm not looking for revenge. I'm looking to ensure the safety of myself, as well as others, and that justice will be met._

_Permission to proceed?_

_Regards,_

_James T. Kirk_

**STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE**

**HIGH PRIORITY**

**STARDATE 2253.10.20**

**ADMIRAL BARNETT VIA CALIFORNIA, EARTH**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR**

**CC: SPOCK**

_Captain Kirk,_

_Granted._

_Proceed with caution, and I expect a full report from EACH and EVERY officer that is involved in Kodos's capture._

_I will personally contact the Argrathi authority and have words with the Warden so she may be made aware of the situation as well._

_Good luck._

_Admiral Barnett_

* * *

**Author's Note: **_Tell me all your preconceived notions. Comments allow me to see my story through your eyes, and it's more helpful than you think._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Six**

**STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE **

**HIGH PRIORITY **

**STARDATE 2253.10.25 **

**LIEUTENANT NYOTA S UHURA VIA NU SHI'KAHR **

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF NU SHI'KAHR **

**CC: SPOCK**

_Captain,_

_I did exactly as you asked and contacted Ms. Fiona Ray. I attempted to buddy her up so that she'd be a lot more amendable and empathic to my urgency to speak face to face with Dr. Karidian, as so to make personal arrangements. _

_Unfortunately, during my exchange with Ms. Fiona Ray, she regrettably mentioned that I had just missed Dr. Karidian. _

_Apparently he's dropped all his appointments to fly out to Dallas, Texas, where his oldest daughter, Carly, is giving birth to her first child. Which means he isn't going to be available until the near beginning of November._

_But, it's not a complete loss. Ms. Fiona Ray promised to contact me as soon as he gets back to his office, and that I'd be a priority client. She'll pull some strings on my behalf, but the communiqué **will** happen as far as we're concerned._

_I'll be sure to notify you and Commander Spock when I've made the proper arrangements on my end so we can move from there. I understand the ball is basically in my court, and since I couldn't reach him like we'd hope, we're kind of at a standstill for now._

_Uhura_

888

Four days before the Halloween Bash, as they wake with the rising sun, Rand, right out of the blue, says, "Hey, you like me right?"

Jim smiles. They're lying on their sides, Rand spooning her from behind. She was just daydreaming about a green pepper, cheese, and mushroom omelet before he spoke. Her stomach growls and she replies, "Yeah—you're alright I suppose. I would probably like you even more if you made me an omelet."

"Oh, well, I feel special," Rand grumbles as he buries his nose into the crook of her neck. He likes doing that for whatever reason. Guys are strange. He says, "I certainly didn't hear any complaining last night when you were bouncing up and down on my co—"

"I swear I'll cut it off if you finish that sentence," Jim warns, but the threat kind of loses its heat because she's laughing and blushing in embarrassment and arousal, just by the sheer memory. "And anyway—you didn't seem to mind either as I recall."

"It's you," Rand softly replies. His fingers curl along the curvy line of her waist as he presses his forehead into her shoulder blade. He's pawing at her like a man without his sight would. "I never mind when it's you."

"Well now I feel special," she remarks dryly. She sucks on her bottom lip until it feels swollen and wet and not at all dry and crackly as it had before. She makes a mental note to hunt down some lip gloss or a lip balm.

Rand hums as he rubs his lips against the back of her arm. "Rock, paper, scissors for your hand in marriage?"

"_What?_"

"What?"

Jim rolls onto her other side so that she can look at Rand plainly. He blinks innocently back at her, but she's not fooled. His hair is sticking up every which way in an adorable manner, and it dulls her exasperation slightly. She studies his face for a long while before she carefully explains, "You're proposing to me."

"Huh?"

"Proposing. You. To me."

"How do you mean?"

"You just fucking said rock, paper, scissors for your hand in marriage, Jan."

"Um—yeah," Rand says timidly as he flushes and fidgets. He props his upper body up by his elbow and he ducks his head, looking up at her through thick lashes in that boyish sort of manner that Jim falls for sometimes. _Sometimes._ "Best two out of three?"

Jim chokes at the sheer audacity before she pounces on top of him and wraps her small hands around his thick neck and _squeezes _because what the ever living fuck?

Rand doesn't really respond kindly to her attempts of suffocating him. Of course why would he—or why would any one for that manner? He gags while he flails in panic and surprise, and they go rolling off his bed, tangled limbs and all.

They make quite a commotion too because while Rand is no ace in wrestling, he sure is one squirmy little bastard that Jim has a hard time holding onto. With the both of them being naked, its probably not helping matters.

This impromptu wrestling match lasts for a suitable eight minutes.

"Oh my God, Jan!" Jim laughs as he pins her flat on her back. He crowds in close until he's the only thing in her vision. "What the utter hell? What are we even doing?"

"I don't know!" Rand pants in exasperation. His eyes are widened and his cheeks are flushed by the exertion he had to use to pin Jim down. It's no easy feat—he must know this from experience. Somehow he's learned how to pin her on her back like this. "I just tried to propose to you and you attempted to kill me like some kind of fucking black widow."

"Aha! You _were_ proposing, you sneaky fucker!" Jim exclaims with unconcealed triumph, even though he has her wrists pinned above her head. She wiggles a bit as she tries to process his confession. This has to be a joke. It has to—but he isn't laughing, which is a worrisome thing. "Are you high? Is that it? God, this is like even stranger than that time I woke up and you drew purple dragons up and down my back with sharpies and I'm not saying it wasn't cool because it totally was but I had my doubts then that you might've been secretly huffing little ole _Mary Jane_ and—"

"I'm not high," he argues sharply in offense. His eyebrows are scrunched in irritation and his mouth sits unhappily on his handsome face. "I'm not!" he repeats when he notices the way Jim eyes him skeptically.

"Yeah, about that," she drawls as she keeps her gaze narrowed. "I'm not so sure because you were just trying to ask for my hand out of nowhere. What's that about?"

"What do you mean? It's not random," Rand maintains with a frown. He looks adorably confused and discouraged. It makes him seem younger than he actually is. "I want to marry you. Sounds simple to me."

Jim's eyebrows lift in speculation. Simple? How bizarre that he would think so. "You want to marry me? Since when?"

"I don't know," Rand replies with a weary sigh. He studies her face like he's trying to figure out who she is before he looks at her bare chest, flushes and looks back up again. Man's got priorities, Jim can respect that much. "How does anyone really know the exact moment something clicks?"

"I imagine it's something like getting shot in the foot. You kinda _have to_ notice something like that."

"Alright fine. Clearly you're right. I mean I guess I have to say that it started when I began doodling _James Tiberius Rand_ in my diary," Rand dryly retorts. That is pure irritation in his voice. "I think that's when it really stuck. And then I thought, hey, let's make that a thing."

Jim tries to bite his shoulder but he manages to dodge it. She huffs and says, "I'm serious. This isn't a joke. Marriage is a big deal. It's not like deciding if you want to put a lease on a house or—"

"I'm not really joking."

Jim stops short as she stares up at him.

"Marry me."

"Janice Austin Cowboy Texas Rand. You are insane."

Rand's gorgeous cobalt blue eyes are gleaming with unshakeable certainty that it damn near frightens her.

Jim knows that look. She's seen it plenty of times before. Usually this is where things took a turn for the worse because she'll be forced to put an end to that look.

He says, "You are—the best thing that ever happened to me. Don't you know that you're better than bottle rockets and rollercoasters and green peppermint candy canes combined?"

"You love green peppermint candy canes," Jim mumbles vaguely as she looks up at him in confusion. She feels stuck, unhinged, and lost. What is this? "You literally told me once that when you died, you wanted your casket to be filled with them."

Rand laughs with a sound that comes right from his gut and reaches into his eyes. "I have a pension for over-exaggeration, yes, but—one thing I could never exaggerate, not in a million years, is how much I love you. And I do, Jim. I love you. So marry me. Marry me for all the right reasons. Marry me for all the wrong reasons. Just marry me."

"Don't say that," Jim says as she pushes against his grip. She feels caged and trapped and sad. He eases up and she quickly sits up as she grabs the sheets from off his floor bed and wraps them around herself like a makeshift dress. Why'd he have to go and ruin things like this? It's not fair. How could he just go and decide that they should spend the rest of forever together? The absolute _nerve_ of him. "Look—Jan. What we have is cool and it's been cool. We've had lots of sex—creative sex—_great _creative sex. But it's not really enough for you to decide that you want to make me your wife."

"Is it the commitment that you don't like?" Rand asks as he rubs his jaw before he rubs the back of his neck. When he does things like that, it makes him look as young as he is—and Jim feels bad suddenly, like she's taking advantage of him somehow.

"Commitment," she blankly echoes.

"Yeah. I just always felt like we countered each other well. I'm happy when I'm with you and you're happy when you're with me. I just—I'm happy."

"It's not the commitment. It's the _everything_. We've known each other for less than three months," Jim argues. Why can't he see how chaotic this is?

"Some people can know each other for two weeks and decide they want to spend the rest of their lives together."

"Yeah but we're not some people."

"No, we're not," Rand agrees. "We're us. You're you, and I'm me. And I love everything about you. I would spend the rest of my life getting to know you and enjoy every second of it."

"My face has its charms. And my body is pretty spectacular too. But how shallow is that?" she questions and doesn't miss the way his face sags into a glower at her words. "I don't mean it like that. I'm not calling you shallow by any means. But come on. You can't know that I'm the one. You can't just decide—"

"There's a lot of things that I don't know," Rand interjects gently and he touches his hand to her wrist before he laces their fingers together. The touch feels stale—one dimensional. He says, "But I know how I feel when I look at you. I know how I feel when I wake up beside you. I know how I feel when you smile at me."

"Those things are physical, Jan," Jim reasons as she removes her hand from his and stands. She's upset—she can't really think. Things are happening too fast. It's making her mind too muddled and crowded. "What you're feeling is infatuation. Not love."

"I politely disagree. You can't tell me about how I feel. Its my heart—I know what it wants," Rand easily returns as he stands and looks down at her. He cups his hands over the curve of her jawline but she pushes his hands away. He sighs sadly. "Tell me something—anything. You have to know that there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. I knew love found me when I found you. I'm no poet, but I don't know how else to explain how I feel."

"Jan," Jim whispers sadly. She's wretched with utter guilt and agitation. He's so young and so stupid. _He doesn't get it_, she thinks, _he doesn't understand who I really am._

"Marry me," he says and it's not a question—it's a request, a plea.

_It's not always like this,_ Jim thinks at him as she stares silently at his lips. _You don't always get to keep the good things. It'll get taken from you somehow. I'm not meant for this—for anyone. You deserve better._

Rand huddles in closer, ignorant to her internal debate. "When I'm with you, every part of me wants to burst into a trillion molecules of ecstasy. Jim—the hair on the back of my neck _sings_ when I _think_ about you. How can I not be sure?"

"James Tiberius Rand," Jim mumbles as she looks up at him with miserable blue eyes. "That sounds fucking awful."

Rand chuckles and kisses the corner of her mouth—a warm little promise, his last plea.

Jim shudders and closes her eyes. She's too aware of him now, too logically imbedded in her mind on his physicality that she can't really consider much else, let alone the heart and soul that lies underneath flesh and bone. Any attraction she's had has suddenly soured in the wake of his proposal.

Ruined. It's all ruined. He's getting too close.

"Or, you know—Janice Kirk has a nice ring to it too," Rand offers lightly and smiles his way into a kiss that does nothing more than lick streaks of guilt and apprehension into her gut.

Jim tries, she does. You can't say that she doesn't, because she does. She imagines for a moment what it might be like to have a life with him. To have him carry her surname and vice versa. To call him hers and to be called. To careen into old age with him, loving every fine line and grey hair. She imagines and she doesn't want it. She swallows and pulls back, and then she says, "It wouldn't be honest. If I said yes—it wouldn't be honest. Not even once. I can't marry you."

Rand rubs the back of his neck and nods wordlessly. For one so tall, the little gesture makes him seem small. There's disappointment laced into dejected loops in his face and eyes.

Jim lays her palm flat along his chest and over his heart. She feels the faint thump and says, "If I loved you half as much as you loved me—you wouldn't even have to convince me. I'd just—" _Ruin you. I always ruin things. I'm like dark ink—I stain. _But she doesn't say this aloud. How could she? She takes a moment to look down at his Adam's apple, gathering herself before she shrugs sadly. She drops her hand and curls it in the sheets wrapped around her like a makeshift toga. "I'm sorry," she says and she means it, right down to her toes. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Rand admits with a sad smile. "Why should I be? You're beyond the scope of amazing, Jim. I couldn't have imagined falling in love with someone better." He snorts and ruffles his hair a bit self-consciously. "Sure this will suck and I'll have to eat my pain away and we'll have to end this little thing we have because it'll be awkward now that I've proposed and you've rejected, but—I wouldn't change anything about anything. There are only good things to remember about what we had. There's nothing to regret, because it's you."

"Oh."

Rand frowns as he notices her bewildered expression. "Jim, do you—" he pauses as he really looks at her. "Do you really not know how wonderful you are?"

Jim flushes before she can help it. Stupid, stupid Jim—she can be too transparent sometimes. "No. I just, um—it's complicated and—"

Rand doesn't tease her. He seems to understand. There's something soft and unspoken in his eyes. He reaches out and pulls her into a hug. This one is different—it's for comfort, not to keep her. "Why are you so heavy-hearted?" he asks.

Jim doesn't say anything—she's not sure what she can say. She laughs bitterly and internally punches against the swell of self-loathing and uncertainty that tries to tie a knot in her chest and gut.

"You're so guarded all the time. Even when you seem really happy," Rand goes on to say. "You've got a whole castle around your heart, complete with moats and a fire-breathing dragon. What are all those walls for, I wonder. Who are you trying to keep out?"

Jim shudders against his words. He's too close to the truth and it's unnerving. She doesn't like this. "I have to go," she says suddenly and pulls back. She avoids his eyes for a moment, trying to put up the proper defense in her expression, and when she finds an acceptable medium she looks at him again. She asks, "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'm always okay. And if I'm not I'll find a way." Rand's cobalt blue eyes assess her with a palpable sort of concern. "You?"

Jim smiles softly, even though she feels like she's breaking apart like sand on the inside. "I'm always okay," she lies, and it rests bitter on her tongue. "And if I'm not I'll find a way." That part is the truth.

"Okay," Rand simply says as he tucks her long bangs behind her left ear for her. He seems frozen in thought for a moment as he stares at the curve of her ear—it's reminiscent almost. There's an intensely tangible sort of farewell in his touch. He swallows, and the regret he feels is seeping like ink in his normally jovial expression as he pulls his hand back. It's like a knife to Jim's heart to know that she's put it there. He says, "You'll think about what I said, right? I meant that. All of it."

"I—yeah," Jim agrees with some reluctance. "Friends still?"

"Until the end of time," Rand promises, and he looks as if he really means it. "I just could use a bit of space. Gotta give a guy some time to get over you, you know?"

Jim nods quietly. She's unsure of what to do here. "Let me just—get dressed."

Rand turns away to give her some privacy, and she quickly fetches her clothes.

After Jim slips on her flip-flops, she gives Rand an awkward goodbye before she exits his tent. Her feet kind of wander for a while after that, and before she can realize what she's doing, she ends up at Uhura's tent.

Something must be written across her face because when Uhura sees her, she says, "Wow—okay. Um—give me a minute and I'm all yours for the rest of the day." She disappears inside her tent for an even ten minutes before she reappears again.

Jim doesn't protest when Uhura shuffles her off to the Enterprise. She certainly doesn't say anything when they ransack the kitchens for every cold sugary confection they can find, or when Chapel coincidently meets them outside of Uhura's private quarters with an extra large laundry bag full of candy, two bottles of lemon flavored vodka, and cans of whipped cream.

Many hours later and they're all down on the carpeted floor of Uhura's living room area, covered by empty ice cream cartons, candy boxes, and one and a half bottles of vodka. They're tipsy, alcohol settling in their veins and loosening the apprehension of their tongues. Before anyone can say who started it, they begin swapping personal stories until they end up talking about their first sexual experiences as they lie on their backs.

Jim shoves a handful of chocolate milk duds into her mouth before she confesses, "I was fourteen and edging into fifteen. This guy—I called him Johnny-Boy. Knew him all my life practically. Like all the way back to the sandbox. And I don't know. I guess I picked him cause he was soft—easy to push around. And I didn't want some arrogant asshole taking my virginity and spilling all the seedy details to his friends."

"Here, here," Chapel chimes as she shakes a can of whipped cream and squirts a nice little swirl over an Oreo.

Uhura hums her agreement as she takes bite from a green twizzler.

"So we were going to high school together, you know. We had biology, and there was this science project we were supposed to do. We decided to do it at his house since his parents were out of town and there was no way I wanted him to meet Frank. And anyway, he had no idea that I just wanted to fuck and not do a diorama of a tulip's anatomical makeup. I had the condoms and everything, and I think about fifteen minutes after we settled into his room, I kinda pounced him. He was so scared." Jim takes a moment to laugh and shake her head. "He fumbled around—he didn't know where to put his hands or how to put on a condom. I had to do it for him."

"No way," Chapel says with a mouthful of whipped cream.

"Yes way. It was so sad. He tried to stick it in six times before he found the right hole and I'm just so done at this point, I don't even care anymore. I mean he gets it all the way in and then he just cums. Just like that. And he can't even get it up again because he's too busy crying." She goes on to say, "There was a moment when I literally thought he might be having a gay crisis or something. But that whole two weeks after, he kept following me around like a lost puppy, and I was still pissed at him for that shitty first experience. But I bucked up, moved on, and I haven't had any bad sex since."

"My first time was with an abstinence speaker," Chapel admits with a self-satisfied curl to her lips that could rival the Cheshire's. "I was sixteen and three of my friends dragged me to this like Christian youth center. I thought I was getting a movie and free pizza, but it turns out we came on the wrong night—or maybe it was the right night." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively until Uhura and Jim laugh. "Anyway, her name was Laurie Kate Fisher, and she was this really uptight redhead with big boobs and delicious freckles that went everywhere. I kind of cornered her after her little seminar and the next thing I know is we're in her car with our hands down each other's pants. She had _such _a talented tongue and it's only been like fifteen minutes and I'm halfway into my third orgasm. Just—perfect." Chapel lies back and feigns a swoon as she puts a hand over her chest. "Never saw her after that. Think she was ashamed or something. I think maybe I heard she moved to Utah and became a nun or some crazy shit like that. Oh well."

"You know—that totally sounds like you to lose your v-card like that," Jim notes with undisguised amusement. She faintly thinks about the little make out session they had a few months back when Chapel all but cornered Jim against her door. "You're not all that innocent as you come off."

"Never claimed to be innocent. I just don't say much," Chapel corrects haughtily as she squirts more whipped cream in her mouth. "I just watch. And stalk. And wait. Like a panther."

Uhura snorts. "You're just a regular Amazonian princess, aren't you?"

"You know it. Not it's your turn, missy. So please do tell how you and Spock lost your virginity to each other," Chapel coos in a squeaky and bubbly voice that makes Jim flush.

"I don't know if I should hear this," Jim mumbles and crams as many chocolate milk duds in her mouth as she can. She'd rather suffocate than listen to a love story involving Spock and Uhura. Just—no.

"No, no," Uhura says between chews, coincidently enough. "Firstly, Spock and I did not lose our virginity to each other. I mean I wasn't his first but he _was_ mine."

Jim gets a sudden thought, and she looks at Uhura so fast that her neck almost gets whiplash. "Wait so when we met in that bar that one time—you were a virgin?"

Uhura makes a noncommittal sound.

"Oh my God, I could've been you're first!" Jim exclaims in realization. Then her expression turns dark. "Fucking Cupcake," she curses. "I'm beginning not to like him again."

"Shut up, Kirk. Don't be so sure of yourself," Uhura rebukes as she smacks Jim's cheek with one of her twizzlers.

"Oh babe, I know for sure you would've been mine," Jim purrs as her tongue chases after the tip of the twizzler. "I would've ate you until you cried."

Uhura flushes and flashes Jim the middle finger as Chapel and Jim laugh their asses off.

"Okay, okay," Chapel pants as she gets herself under control. "Seriously though. What's the story with that? We shared ours. Now it's your turn. Girl code."

"Fine, fine," Uhura grudgingly consents. She takes a deep breath and mutters. "Alright. So. Spock and I were six months into our relationship—"

"Wait, how old are you?" Jim interrupts.

"Twenty-two."

"So you were nineteen."

"Yes, now shut up and listen before I change my mind," Uhura warns with a graceful huff. "So as I was saying. Spock and I were six months into our relationship, and I decided that he was the one that I wanted to—be with in that way. And he was really understanding about my needs and attentive to my body and there was wine and rose petals and it was a real fairy tale. The end."

"You totally rushed through the details," Chapel mutters as she tears into a pixie stick.

"Maybe it's for the best," Jim decides as she shifts uncomfortably. She really doesn't want to know—no matter how intriguing the thought of Spock and Uhura naked, together and—

She cuts off that thought viciously as she reddens. She grabs the half empty bottle of lemon vodka and downs the rest until the floor feels like it's moving.

"Hey," Chapel says. "Spock used to be a teacher at the academy right?"

"Yeah," Uhura confirms between chews. "Advanced phonology. I was his TA. That's how we met."

"I bet he was something as a teacher," Chapel supposes.

"More than something," Uhura admits as she polishes off her last green twizzler. "It was one of the reasons I fell for him. He has this thing—a kind of warm glow in his voice when he's giving and explaining information he cares about. It makes you feel like he's divulging some kind secret information to you and you alone, and it's because he trusts you."

Jim wordlessly agrees. She knows all too well what Uhura means. It's by far Spock's most attractive trait—_and _she will never admit that aloud.

Chapel sighs forlornly. "Wow—you know if I actually cared about the function of a dick, I'd hop on his in a heartbeat."

Uhura chokes and swats at Chapel. "You're the worst kind of friend!"

"I don't think so," Chapel purely responds as she shakes up a can of spray cheese and swirls it on top of an oatmeal cookie.

Uhura makes a face. "Oh that's gross."

"Your boobs are gross."

"You're almost twenty-six. How can you still be so immature?"

"Your boobs are immature."

Uhura huffs and rolls her eyes as she starts eating some green apple skittles.

A companionable silence filters in and blankets them. Each one of them is left to their own alcohol-induced thoughts as the hours of the day wind down and settle into night.

Jim feels the pleasant hum of alcohol thrumming through her bloodstream before a darkened cloud of sadness forms inside of her ribcage. Eyes growing hot, she covers her face with her trembling hands and says, "Rand proposed."

Chapel and Uhura still before they glance at her sharply. They scramble into a sitting position around Jim's head and stare down at her with wide eyes.

Jim sniffs and cries a little before she drops her hands to her sides with a miserable headshake. "I couldn't say yes. I tried to imagine—I always try to imagine what it would be like and I just _can't_. I couldn't." She inhales a shuddering breath as more hot tears slide from her eyes and down the sides of her temples to her ears. "Three times. I've been proposed to _three times_ and I couldn't say yes to any of them. God, what's wrong with me?" She covers her face and cries softly.

Uhura pulls her up and hugs her, shushing her gently. "Nothing at all. And you're an idiot for thinking otherwise. Obviously those three people think you'd make perfect marriage material," she remarks. "Hell, that's three more than I've been asked."

"I concur the hell out of that," Chapel quips quite seriously. "Damn, Jim. Three? Who were the other two if you'll let me be nosy."

"Um—Gaila. Like a day before the whole Nero thing—"

"No she fucking didn't!" Uhura hisses in sheer surprise. "She actually did? I mean she told me she was, but you knew Gaila—she'd propose to anyone who could finger her—uh. You know what I mean."

Jim laughs sadly and nods. "Yeah. No, it's okay. I know. She was planning to go back to her home planet after graduation and she wanted me to go with her. She said I would've really liked it. She wanted to get married there—well in the way that her people do. And she was very serious about it too. But I just couldn't," she says. "I loved her too much like a sister."

"Who else?" Chapel presses with curious eyes.

"Um, Bones—kinda," Jim admits and sniffs as she dries her face with the back of her hands.

Chapel blinks rapidly as she looks up at Jim as though she were a unicorn. A red, sparkly-dipped unicorn. "Okay. Yeah, okay. That's a big deal," she decides with barely concealed incredulity. "I mean that's—God, no wonder Nyota called me and said that you looked like you had the expression of a woman who'd found out she was pregnant and she never meant to be."

"I'm not pregnant," Jim huffs and knocks her shoulders into Chapel's.

"Well, you know, I didn't really think so," Uhura retorts defensively. "But you did have that kind of look."

Jim gives a meager shrug as she clears her throat and blows out a breath of air. She quietly thanks Uhura when she hands her a box of Kleenex.

"So," Uhura marvels softly. "Rand proposed."

Jim nods, and then gives another shrug.

"Stop shrugging, shrugger. Tell us what happened," Chapel urges, stealing a few of her milk duds. "You're crying. Why are you crying about it? And they're not really happy tears. What happened?"

"Nothing much to tell," Jim grunts as she lies back and stares up at the ceiling. She presses her small hand to her stomach. "It was really out of the blue. We woke up, and talked for a bit—then he says rock, paper, scissors for your hand in marriage."

"Dear God." Uhura makes a face as if she doesn't approve. She shakes her head and mutters something that bemoans the idiocy of the male species.

"Yup. Then he tried to pretend that he didn't say it, but then he does again and I kind of panic and start to choke him. Next thing I know is that we're rolling across the floor, completely naked until he has me pinned under him."

Chapel grins playfully with a leer. "Go on…"

Jim huffs a watery laugh as she dabs under her eyes.

"Cool your jets, Christine. This is serious," Uhura rebukes and says nothing when Chapel rolls her eyes in disappointment. She then looks down at Jim and motions for her to continue.

"Then he asks me for real this time. And he—he just sounds so sure. Like I was all he ever wanted and he knew that without a doubt," Jim goes on to say. She rubs her fingers along her bottom lip. "He says I was the best thing to ever happen to him, and all I can think about is the great sex we've had and how I'd miss it since he decided to be serious. But—but there was this _one_ second where I let myself see it, you know—saying yes. And—I couldn't. Despite knowing deep down inside of me that he and I could probably last for years. I didn't want it, and I don't know why I wouldn't."

"He's probably not meant for you. That's not a big deal," Chapel supposes, trying to understand it all herself. Her beautiful face twists in contemplation. "It's no reason to be upset, though. Did you end things on good terms?"

"Yeah," Jim sighs.

"Well there you go," Chapel says, as if it's just that simple. She grabs the second bottle of vodka and pours herself a shot.

"You don't understand," Jim insists. "Three times, and I've never said yes. I mean, is this going to be me for the rest of my life? The woman who says no."

"But why do you keep saying no? What is it really?" Uhura asks as she focuses the brunt of her attention on Jim. "If you could be a hundred percent honest with yourself—what would you say is the reason why you say no?"

Jim hesitates. Her heart is fluttering anxiously. She sighs shakily and says, "I think—I'm waiting." And as soon as she say it she flushes in embarrassment because she feels silly for even saying it.

"For what?" Uhura asks gently.

"Or for who?" Chapel adds.

Jim covers her face with her hands and shakes her head. This is too much.

"Come on, you can tell us," Chapel assures. "We love you and we wouldn't use any thing you say to hurt you."

"I'm sure we can relate on some level," Uhura guarantees.

Jim sighs shakily again and says, "I don't know. I just—I don't know," she admits. "I think its because I want to be happy and not think about why I should be. I want to be with someone who can help me forget myself. And Rand—he's the closest I've ever came, and it's scary and frustrating, and I knew deep down that what we had wasn't it. I knew I wasn't completely happy. I'm just a miserable sad sack of pathe—"

Uhura swats her arm with a glare. "Shut your mouth, Kirk. You're anything but miserably pathetic." She shakes her head as her face goes sad. "I don't know who hurt you—but you can't keep treating the people who care about you like they'll do the same. It's your heart. _Yours_. Throughout life people will make you mad, disrespect you, and treat you bad. But that's life, right? That's the price of having the kind of cognitive makeup that we do. And I can't say why things are like this or that or any way. It's hard for me too, it's hard for _all of us_."

"You're not alone in that," Chapel reports as she looks to Uhura and then to Jim. "We all have our bad spots. But you have to know that you're stronger than you think—and you deserve the best but you _have _to let yourself have it."

"My grandmother used to say that it's no small wonder if you don't understand what it is to love someone as much as they love you. Not being able to do that now isn't a shortcoming," Uhura goes on to say and she gives Jim sticky fingers a comforting squeeze. "We're young, and we've got to grow into plenty of things. We're supposed to fuck up sometimes. If you find it in your heart to care for somebody else, you will have succeeded in that area. But if you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. Say no to a hundred, a thousand, a million proposals if you have to. It's _your _heart, Jim. Let it decide for you like you've been doing. You'll know when things click the way it's supposed to."

"And remember—if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love," Chapel reasons. She pauses and blinks. "Goddamn that's deep," she chimes in utter awe. "I amaze myself sometimes. I need to write a book."

"Oh shut up," Uhura laughs as she grabs a couch cushion and hurls it at the curvy nurse. "I don't even know how I put up with you."

"Because I'm your best friend and you love me and secretly want to get into my metaphorical pants," Chapel drawls as she flutters her eyelashes with her best 'come hither' look.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that last part," Uhura refutes and steals the bottle of vodka, taking a quick swig.

"We should do this more often," Jim decides as she tucks her hands behind her head. "I never really had a lot of female friends growing up, so—this'll be a learning experience. Plus there's a million things I can never talk to Bones and Spock about, no matter how much I consider them my absolute best friends."

Uhura licks her lips as she peers at Jim thoughtfully. "Okay, I am seriously dying to know this," she says suddenly. "But tell me how you really feel about Spock leaving—well, the possibility anyway."

Chapel looks at Jim with curiosity as well. "Yeah I heard about that."

Uhura frowns. "How? I never said."

"How do you think? Rumors spread like wildfire down there," Chapel points out. "I heard from Leonard, who heard from Chekov, who heard from Sulu, who heard it from Scotty, who heard it from Giotto, who heard it from Hoyt, who heard it from Leila Kalomi, who's apart of the city's horticultural construction, and while she was out showing some of the Vulcans and some of our officers where most of the groundwork of where the trees and plants should be planted in the city without disrupting the balance of the buildings and the roads with the aid of Dr. Cruise, she happened to overhear Lana and Jane talking with Bill, who's with piping, say that Kevin told him that his girlfriend Genevieve, who was told by Spencer through Tim, who's rivals with Kathy from plotting and had heard from Eve and Scout, who personally know Sam who knows Muriel who knows Ferdinand, who is the cousin of Teresa, who happens to be assisting Sybok with implementing Vulcan texts within a super computer with the additional aid of Sarek, who supposedly is also Sybok's father and Spock's half-brother, but it's rumor and no one knows, and anyway they were discussing Spock's supposed job offer to be the head of the xenopology department." She takes a deep breath. "Phew. Mouthful. But yeah, that. All of that."

Uhura just stares at her before she turns her attention back to Jim. "Back to you," she says.

"Mm, yes. Do tell, Captain," Chapel quips cheekily as she looks to Jim as well.

Jim flicks her gaze between them before she sighs and snags the bottle of vodka from Uhura. She takes a nice, long swig, coughing against the burn that winds its way down the length of her esophagus. She wipes the back of her hand against her mouth before she says, "I'll only be honest with you guys if you promise to not bother me with this again."

"Deal," Uhura agrees as Chapel nods.

Jim marks an invisible 'x' over her heart and says, "That means your scout's honor."

Uhura rolls her eyes but she nods in compliance.

Chapel merely snorts and takes back the vodka bottle.

"Okay," Jim says and takes a deep breath. "I am fucking pissed and sad. I don't want him to leave. Of course I don't want him to leave. That guy is phenomenal in so many ways. And the fact that he's even considering leaving is kind of like a stab in the back. I mean, I thought we were doing well. I thought we were making progress. And then he just wants to—" She cuts herself off because she can't even find the right words. She throws up her hands in frustration. "I can't understand that Vulcan."

"Trust me, none of us can. He's got to be the most spontaneous Vulcan to ever be made," Uhura decides with a fond frown. "You should tell him all that, though. Tell him how you really feel. He'd stay if he knew you didn't want him to go."

"How could I? How could I tell him not to do what he wants? It just sounds childish and selfish," Jim clarifies. "And I wouldn't want him to resent me if he didn't get to decide what he wanted on his own, you know?"

Uhura lowers her eyes thoughtfully and sighs. "Yeah. That's—I never thought of it like that," she admits, albeit a bit guiltily. "But I don't want him to leave either."

"I don't think any of us do. It'd be a great loss," Chapel decides with a sympathetic face. She makes another face as she stumbles to her feet. "Bathroom break!" she exclaims as she flies into Uhura's bathroom with great urgency.

Jim and Uhura are left behind in a comfortable silence.

"I wish I was as understanding as you," Uhura says as she lies down on her stomach and looks down at Jim. "But I'm really kind of willful. I'd make Spock stay if it were up to me."

"Sometimes you have to let people decide what they want for themselves. It's what I'd want, so," Jim says with a shrug. "I'm putting my feelings aside because Spock is my friend and I care a great deal about him. I want him to be happy."

"I can toast to that," Uhura mutters. She begins to stare at Jim with indecipherable look. "You know, sometimes he looks at your eyes when you're not looking," she randomly remarks.

Jim lifts an eyebrow.

"Like _really _looks," Uhura continues. "It's almost as if he's trying to figure out how to steal them without hurting or inconveniencing you."

"Is there a reason you're saying this or is it the liquor talking?" Jim questions.

"Maybe," Uhura merely says. "But his favorite color is blue—and if you can't figure out what I'm trying to say then I'm worried that the liquor may be impairing _your_ brain."

Jim sighs and manages not to roll her eyes in exasperation. "Nyota—Spock and I are friends, okay? Nothing more, nothing less. I wish you and everyone else would just understand that."

"Yeah, sure," Uhura deflects. "You two couldn't be more obvious and oblivious at the same time—it's almost painful." She gives Jim this all-knowing look that grates on Jim's nerves. "Go ahead and lie if you want—but you can't say that you've never at least thought about it."

"I actually haven't," Jim replies truthfully. "All I've ever wanted was to be his friend. I saw the potential in _that_."

"So you never thought about having sex with him or having his kids or kissing him—human or Vulcan way?" Uhura presses.

"Oh my God. No. I never let myself because it would be incredibly awkward," Jim reports with a mortified expression. "And anyway I couldn't—_can't _have children."

"What?"

"I can't have children," Jim reiterates blankly. "Turns out starvation is never good on a growing girl's developing body. Case and point, Tarsus took more from me than my childhood innocence."

Uhura doesn't say anything at first, she looks as though she's processing Jim's words. Finally, after three minutes of awkward silence, she says, "I got my tubes tied when I was seventeen."

Jim gawks at her.

"It was a conscientious decision. I don't want to be a mother. It's not for me," Uhura admits with a graceful shrug. "I can get them untied anytime if I ever change my mind. And you know, if you and Spock ever need a surrogate mother, I'll be more than happy to—"

Jim pounces on Uhura and squirts whipped cream all over her gorgeous face. "You don't fucking listen!" she yells in exasperation.

Uhura laughs uncaringly and screeches as she tries to squirm from out under Jim.

"Puppy pile!" Chapel quips, appearing out of nowhere, and dives on the both of them until the three of them are rolling around in puddles of whipped cream.

They push away from each other and laugh hysterically as they lie on Uhura's carpeted floor like starfishes. Eventually they settle down enough to smile like idiots, and it's obvious that the three of them are a little more than tipsy.

Jim's not sure how long they lay on the floor like that, but eventually Uhura stumbles to her feet and messes with the stereo system she has crammed in the corner.

A familiar pulsing beat begins to pound through the speakers and thrum through the floors. It's Beyoncé's '_Grown Woman_'.

Jim lets out a shocked and happy laugh as Uhura wraps a fluffy feather scarf around her neck and put on large sunglasses.

Chapel claps in excitement and nudges Jim.

Uhura looks right at them and sings, "_I remember being young and brave, I knew what I needed._" She strikes a pose and continues,_ "I was spending all my nights and days laid back day dreaming._" She points at Jim with utter seriousness and sings,_ "Look at me, I'm a big girl now, said I'm gone do something. Told the world I would paint this town._" She snaps her fingers in 'z' formation and sings,_ "Now bitches I run this!"_

Chapel hops up and gyrates her hips mock seriousness as she sings with Uhura. "_'Cause I put it (down like that, down like that). And I'm making (all these racks, all these racks). And I'm moving (round like that, round like that). When I do it (I don't look back, don't look back)._"

They stare at Jim and urge her to get up and join them.

Jim is flushed red with her laughter and she declines with a wave of her hands and a headshake.

Chapel rolls her eyes and grabs Jim by the wrist, yanking her to her feet.

Uhura keeps singing but she glares at Jim with a pointed look that says '_I put this on for you, the least you could do is sing too!_'. She wraps her scarf around Jim's neck.

Chapel looks at her expectantly as well.

Jim sighs long-sufferingly before she bellows, "_I'm a grown woman! I can do **whatever** I want._"

Uhura and Chapel smile and high-five her as the two of them begin dancing circles around Jim as they all sing until the song reaches completion.

By the time it's over, they're all out of breath from singing as loudly and obnoxiously as they can (Uhura and Chapel more so since they were dancing too).

Jim collapses to the floor, dizzy with her giddiness.

Chapel falls down beside her and curls into her side with a happy sigh as Uhura sits down on the other side of Jim. She says, "What're you wearing to the Halloween Bash?"

"I'm going as Catwoman," Uhura replies with an eager grin.

Chapel frowns thoughtfully and says, "Halle Berry's Catwoman or Anne Hathaway's Catwoman?"

Uhura scoffs. "Are you kidding? Michelle Pfeiffer's Catwoman of course," she retorts as she bites off the top of a green twizzler. "What about you?"

"Marie Antoinette."

"Classy."

Chapel snorts and tosses a chocolate milk dud at her. She looks over at Jim and asks, "And how about you, Captain Kirk?"

"It's a surprise," Jim mumbles with a yawn.

"Boo," Chapel sighs as she sits up and steals one of Uhura's twizzlers. She says to her, "What kind of makeup are you doing?"

Uhura shrugs. "I don't know yet. I think I'll just worry about my lips if anything. Maybe do like a cinnamon red."

"Oh, no way. Do sunset red."

"No, it's too light for my skin tone."

"Whatever. It's so not. It'll be fine."

"Um, I think I would know, Christine."

"Not so sure about that, Nyota."

Jim falls asleep against the sound of Uhura and Chapel debating the best shade of red for lipstick.

She dreams of rivers made of whipped cream and a sky made of the same shade of blue as her eyes. She stands along the riverbank of the whipped cream river, crouched down and running her fingers through the sloshing stream.

The clouds are made of cotton candy and the sun is the swirling head of a lollipop.

It's a candy paradise and Jim feels content to stay there forever.

A shadow crosses overhead and there's the unmistakable sound of flapping wings.

Jim tenses at the definite presence behind her. She carefully rotates her body, shaking the whipped cream from her fingers, until she comes face to face with the largest creature she's ever seen.

It's a raven, as tall as her (even taller) and wide like an eagle with a sharp beak and beady black eyes. It has jet-black feathers with translucently colored tips like a rainbow and wow, those _feet. _Those are huge feet. And those _wings_. They were large and wide like the wings of a Pegasus. The wingspan was massively long.

Jim gapes. What the hell else can she do? "I'm _so _dreaming. Right? Aren't I dreaming?"

"You are," the creature confirms with the deep tenor of a man, and how was _that _possible? "I do not believe you would be able to handle my true form. Dreams are the better option when it comes to communicating with mortals—lest I pull your soul from your body and communicate with you that way. But I do not wish to. Not yet." The Raven leans in closer and cocks its head, peering at her from its right eye. "I hope you are not afraid. I've come not to harm you. I have been watching you since the moment you've come into existence."

"You—what?" Jim asks as she blinks.

"Are you an owl, girl? Why do you blink so much?"

"I'm surprised!" Jim exclaims in offense and stops herself from blinking altogether. "What are you?"

"I'm a bird for now. Don't be stupid."

Jim glares. "I can see you're a bird. _Who _are you?"

"I know who I am, silly girl. The question is—who are _you?_"

"I am about three seconds from being done with this conversation if I don't get some answers," Jim snidely retorts and crosses her arms. "What or who are you?"

The Raven cocks its head. "I am infinite, being of nothing and everything. I am the beginning and the end. I am truth."

"Truth is not a bird," Jim murmurs incredulously. She almost wants to laugh at the thought—at the mere poetry. "If truth were a bird, then what would that make me?"

"You, James—you are stardust. Every living creature is stardust. And it remains permanently sealed inside of you until you become deceased," the Raven replies as it cocks its head again. "And it is not until then or near so, can you see my full form. This bird is merely my vessel. I am the Watcher—your children sing nursery rhymes about me. Your people worshiped me in the old religions. It has been many millennia since then. I believe the last idol was taken down after the fall of Babylon."

"Um," Jim says vaguely. She feels stuck—confused. She watches in fascination as the Raven folds its wings in. "You're—" she says as she studies the large bird. "How long have you been around?"

"I am not a product of time. I know no age," the Raven explains. "My origins is of little importance. I have come to warn you."

"Warn me?"

The Raven nods and yeah, birds aren't supposed to be able to do that. "The soft-footed boy you call friend will push the hand of Fate and get himself killed if he is not careful. Though if he leans into the knife, his gut will swallow it in a less than harmful manner."

Jim stares at the raven for a long moment. "I have many soft-footed friends—I think. Which one do you mean?"

"I mean the one that I mean," the Raven retorts curtly.

"You're not really as helpful as you think."

"And you are as difficult as always. So many questions. Q was quite right about that."

"Q? Who is Q?"

The Raven sniffs and shakes its feathers. "Ah, that's right. He has not restored your memory of him to you."

Jim feels a headache forming. "Who are you—that you would invade my dreams and warn me?"

"I call you friend," the Raven replies. "How long has it been since you last prayed to me? I have not forgotten, though it seems _you _have."

Jim stills and swallows dryly. "Death?"

The Raven cocks its head.

Jim gapes. "But—death isn't—it isn't anything but death."

"Death is truth," the Raven agrees. "I am Death—therefore I am truth."

Jim gapes again.

"You do enjoy pushing me, I find," the Raven remarks as it cocks it heads. "How many times have I had to come and hide you away from my sight? Such an interesting individual—but only I know when your time has come to an end. No one can take you but me—not the gods of old or the gods of new and certainly not the hands of men."

Jim feels dizzy. "I don't even pray to you anymore," she faintly points out.

"Should that matter?" the Raven questions rhetorically. "There is a halo of importance hovering over your soul. You have work to do, James. Much work. You will restore the balance."

"What balance?" Jim hisses in confusion.

The Raven ignores her question and says, "You will wake soon, and you will not remember this. But your soul will, and the rest, I believe, shall be left to Fate." He goes on to say, "Save the soft-footed boy. He is important in the grand scheme of things as well. There is a war coming and I must prepare myself for the reaping of the masses."

Jim watches as the raven flaps its wings and disappears in a gleam of translucent stardust.

When she wakes up, she doesn't remember a thing and she's pleasantly hung-over.

888

The day before the Halloween Bash finds Jim hauling a four level cart full of sac lunches around the city to hand out to her officers and to Captain Daily's officers as well. No one could ever say she was the type to idly stand by and not offer her assistance in some kind of a way.

Jim's the greatest Captain ever, okay? You could not convince her otherwise.

She loves her crew and her officers. She has, like, _feelings. _

They're motherly, prideful, possessively protective feelings.

There's nothing that Jim would not do for them because they've made it clear that there isn't anything they wouldn't do for her. They've stuck by her throughout the entirety of this crazy year when, at anytime, they could have petitioned for a transfer. But they didn't. They stayed.

How _awesome _is that?

So of course Jim would be making her rounds, staying in their faces, making absolute sure they're comfortable and well-fed and treated properly. She jumps from construction site to construction site in attempts to show them all that she does care. That they're more than a name on duty roster.

They are loyal and dedicated and hardworking and _hers_.

It's those facts alone that makes Jim smile in earnest as she hands out these sac lunches (with the aid of Chekov who is pushing the refreshment and snack cart). She high-fives them and tells them to keep up the good work.

The smiles and grateful thanks that they return to her are fantastically priceless.

Jim sweats under the unyielding hot surge of the sun, and she beams as she continues to hand out lunches, and she doesn't think about her problems for the moment. It feels nice to just find a way out of her own head and think about other people.

"I'm not stupid."

Jim tenses at the distinct voice and quickly covers her reaction as she hands over the last few lunches to the remaining officers who are apart of the horticultural reconstruction.

She turns away from them and starts hauling the steel cart back to the direction of the human camps, and says, "Any particular reason why you're bestowing me with this very interesting bit of information, Commander _Riley_?"

Leighton scowls as he stays hot on her heels. "Don't play games with me, Jimmy. I'm not ignorant to the eyeballs following me around. And it hasn't escaped my notice that you've been real passively quiet considering things," he gripes.

Jim's fingers tighten around the bar handle of the cart angrily. "Just doing what you asked, Tommy," she replies airily as she keeps her gaze forward.

"Horse shit," Leighton snaps viciously. He's practically frothing at the mouth with his fury. "I've already warned you to stay out of it. Don't pull any tricks—this is _mine_. Do you understand that? Can you wrap your pretty little brain around the concept of minding your own fucking business?"

"You should've never brought him _here _with no clear indication that you knew just which one he was_._ AndI'm not the one confronting you about anything, now am I?" Jim smartly counters and winces when he yanks her roughly by the arm, forcing her to look him in his one good eye. They've made it no further than the newly built infirmary. It's a tall structure made of clay stone and copper. "You fucking stop that, you idiot. You're drawing the wrong kind of attention," she hisses in a low tone.

Leighton's upper lip curls in a sneer as he glares around at the onlookers (both Vulcan and human alike) before he turns that scowl onto her. "Ask me if I fucking care. I don't. You and yours have nothing to do with me—and I'll knife the first person who tries anything," he warns.

Jim makes a noise of frustration before she tangles her fingers in the front of his shirt and yanks him inside the infirmary for some privacy.

The long stretch of corridor and black linoleum floor solidifies the dark contrast of the low lighting above their heads. The infirmary is completely vacated, and Jim being alone with him in this building is a very bad idea but she has little options.

Leighton refuses to let up the grip he has on her arm. "What's the matter, Captain Kirk? Don't want your lapdogs to think any lesser of you? Though that's a laugh. You've sunk into some seedy depths haven't you? Any lower and you'd be melted by this planet's core."

"You're rabid," Jim says and shakes her head. "Let me go."

Leighton tightens his grip spitefully and steps in so close that Jim gags at the undeniable smell of alcohol on his breath. The _fucker_ has been drinking. "You don't want to listen to me? Fine. I'll just weed him out and bring him to you. He's gonna cut you open, Jamie," he whispers. "Like a fucking trout or a wild buck. He's gonna do to you what you helped him do to those boys. And I'm gonna let him—I'm gonna let him do it. But I won't let him eat you—I'm not so cruel. No. Right before you die, I'm gonna cut his heart out and throw him right on you so you can die together."

Jim's stomach curls in horror at the visual and her shoulders shake in utter revulsion. "What is wrong with you?" she questions with intangible unease. "Do you hate me so much?"

Leighton swallows shallowly and curls his free hand around the front of her neck as he stares at her collarbone. His fingers are rough and calloused and cold. "I hate myself," he mutters. "I hate the hole inside of me that _Kodos _put there when he took Riley from me. And I hate Riley for loving you more—for loving you enough to die for it." He lifts his eye. It's swimming in a film of moisture. "Do you understand that?"

Jim looks at him quietly before she says, "Yes."

Leighton swallows again and something like shame flashes across his expression. "I'm no good to anything. Killing Kodos is all I got, and you're trying to take that from me. I won't condone it. I meant what I said, Jimmy. I will bring him to you. Anything remorseful or kind or sympathetic—anything _human, _died with Riley on Tarsus. Don't think I care about you or what happens to you." He squeezes his fingers hard enough that Jim colors with the struggle to breathe. "Why should you live and good people are forced to die?"

There is a moment, just a brief moment, where she thinks about not fighting him. She thinks about letting those fingers tighten until she can't feel her fingers and her toes, until spots dance in front of her sad blue eyes, until she's no longer a threat or problem or an issue for anyone. It would be no lesser than what she deserved right? For all the things she'd done—for the innocents she'd led astray like a lamb to the slaughter. She could let him have this—she could let go and let—

A movement out of the corner of her eye startles her into awareness and the press of heat at her back, the earthy smell of tea leaves, and the way the bond in her mind purrs in relief, drifts her back into sanity again.

Spock's pale fingers reach out from behind her and curl around Leighton's wrist with a vindictive squeeze until the unmistakable sound of a _snap _is heard.

Leighton chokes on his pain and bites down on the top of his tongue, causing blood to seep from his mouth as he yanks his hands off of Jim to cradle his broken wrist against his chest.

Jim blinks and glances up at Spock over her shoulder. She's surprised to see the blatant thunderous expression that is lying in wait on the planes of his usually stoic face.

"Commander Riley, you will not place your hands on Captain Kirk in such a manner or any manner of the kind," Spock coldly advises. His tone is laced with icy fury and his face is set in livid stone.

"You broke my wrist, you pointy-eared fucker!" Leighton yells in outrage.

"Be grateful that this is all I have broken," Spock coolly retorts. "Had I shown you any less kindness, I would have broken the ligaments of both of your hands as well as your wrists. Such damage requires an elongated fraction of recuperation. I do not believe you would find such a circumstance ideal."

Leighton glares, even though he pales three shades whiter.

"I advise you to seek medical attention for your broken wrist," Spock uncaringly suggests.

"Fuck you and her," Leighton mutters furiously as he storms out of the empty infirmary.

Jim breathes a little easier and relaxes her shoulders.

Spock is furiously silent behind her.

Jim stomps down the urge to run and hide. She's gonna have to be a big girl about this. She's made a very bad mistake, and she can practically feel Spock's anger edging along his end of the bond—a testament to how upset he must be to let his emotions seep tangibly. She swallows, takes a moment to gather her own shields, and says, "How'd you know that we—"

"Ensign Chekov made me privy to the information when he observed your unsettling exchange with the Commander," Spock briskly interrupts, and wow, he sounds _very_ livid. "Jim, why did you allow him to put his hands upon you in such a way?"

"I didn't really mean to," Jim mutters as she stares ahead. She feels ashamed. "I could've—I don't know. I didn't mean to."

"There are a lot of things you do not mean to do it seems," Spock notes icily. "Yet this is the second time you allowed him to be physically aggressive with you. I have witnessed your ability to defend yourself numerous times, and I also know that you were the assistant instructor in advanced hand-to-hand combat. You must forgive me if I cannot comprehend the reasoning behind your actions concerning your confrontations with the Commander, which leaves you more scathed than he, when statistically, it should be the reverse."

Jim closes her eyes and laughs bitterly. "I don't know, Spock. I don't know," she says. "Maybe there was a second that I thought I deserved it," she admits.

Spock mutters something Vulcan that sounds as close to a curse that she's ever heard. He curls his hot fingers into her shoulders and physically turns her so that they are face to face. His dark eyes study the expressive lines of her face avidly as he keeps his hands on the bare skin of her shoulders and his lips tighten in disapproval while his expression darkens by the second.

"You better not be reading my feelings with your hands," Jim weakly warns as she stares up at him. She feels vulnerable like this, under his penetrating stare. She feels stretched and exposed. What can he see? What does he know? She doesn't want to know—doesn't want to know. "Don't read me," she says/begs.

"You leave me with little choice," Spock replies distantly. "I cannot fathom the reasoning behind your suicidal behavior. You refuse to take up for yourself when you have every right to do so. You are a most singularly troublesome human."

"I'm not asking you to deal with me," Jim angrily remarks, feeling the fight in her spark in desperation and cowardice. He's the wrong person she should be fighting against, but he's learning her—he's learning her too well and she doesn't know if she can handle that. "You don't have to care. And I—I'm sorry but you'll never understand how it feels to be someone who's had a past like mine. I'm running from myself, Spock. I'm always running because I can pretend and hide all I want but eventually what I really am at the end of it all is a shitty, no good, murderer." Hot tears coast the line of her lower eyelids. God, she's going to cry and she doesn't fucking want to. "I don't know how to forgive myself. I don't know how to take up for myself. How can I? I'm trying everyday. I'm trying to be different. To prove—"

"You have nothing to prove," Spock gently interjects. "Your heart is pure, and well met by your lasting good intentions—it is not mere bravado or valiancy. There is purpose and worth to each and every life. Yours is of exceeding value. You're continuing existence offers more substance than your death would. I have witnessed this countless times. You are important."

Jim blinks as her tears fall warmly down her flushed cheeks. She hates this feeling of broken sadness, but his words plugs something solid and unshakeable in the empty spaces of her gut and heart. Her fingers twitch at her sides. "Do you—really think that?" she asks quietly, warily.

"I would not say it if I did not think it so," Spock affirms. His dark gaze remains steadily fixed upon her as if he has no plans of looking anywhere else anytime soon. "No good could come of your absence in this life. It grieves me that you would think otherwise."

Jim inhales sharply, breath punching out as though she's been struck. His confession assaults the malleable sore spots of her heart. It spreads inside and overflows like a cup, pouring out the sides and flowing across the curves of her bones.

_I'm important_, she thinks with desperate hope that makes her feel both ashamed and elated at the same time as she curls her small fingers into the front of his blue shirt in a sort of daze. _I'm important. I'm important. I'm important. Important. Importantimportantimportantimportan—_

Jim swallows again and drops her hand when she realizes where she has it.

Spock says nothing. He continues to gaze at her, through her, with a patient silence.

Jim calms herself until she feels okay. She does. She feels more than that. She just hopes that he can feel it too. "I—thank you," she says and lowers her eyes as her cheeks heat. She feels more embarrassed than sad now. "Are you upset with me?"

Spock doesn't say anything at first. It's obvious he's withholding his actual opinions in order to keep things amiable between them. "Bruises are disagreeable on you," he finally says. It's obvious where he's looking.

Jim looks down at her arm where there are fingerprint-shaped marks overlapping the old ones. She reaches up and caresses the front of her neck, where she's sure there's a lovely handprint there too. "Yeah," she murmurs in faint agreement. "They are."

"Jim," Spock says.

Jim pulls her gaze up to him. "Spock," she replies.

"I am aware that you have not led an easy life, and your thoughts may be frequented by morbid inclinations," Spock states. "But I would like to inform you that you are not alone. It is no manner of difficulty for me to remind you of why you are needed. Your good health, whether mental or physical, is important to numerous amounts of individuals. Please remember this."

"You're going to make me cry again," Jim jokes and grins at the stern look he gives to her. "I promise," she says placatingly. "I'll come to you if I need a shoulder to cry on."

Spock seems to take her words to heart, despite the arbitrary nature of them, and he relaxes his already loose hold on her shoulders before he drops his hands altogether and tucks them behind himself. "May I escort you to Dr. McCoy?" he asks.

"Can you promise to protect me from hypos and lectures?" Jim counters with a reluctant frown.

"I do not believe so," Spock states truthfully as his expression withdraws into something more neutral. His dark eyes are still dimmed with his concern, however. He turns and leaves as though he's sure she will follow.

Jim sighs long-sufferingly and follows him out into the sun. They make it to the med tent with minimal difficulty, and Spock lingers long enough to watch Bones use his regenerator to remove the bruises.

Surprisingly enough, Bones doesn't say much about the contusions, even after Spock explains the causes for them.

Jim thinks it might have something to do with the fact that Leighton had to swing by and get sent up to the Enterprise with a few of Bones's lesser experienced lackeys so they could get to work with setting his wrist right. He might be counting the fact they'll be fumbling around sickbay without his guidance and input, trying to set Leighton's wrist right, only to come up short a few times until they get it right as punishment enough.

After Jim's skin is made completely blemish free, Scotty waltzes in with bloody hands and a bloody back, grinning like a loon.

Spock takes that as his cue and leaves, returning to whatever he might've been doing before this whole mess started.

Jim refuses to admit she's disappointed to see him go. And she also refuses to think about how she still doesn't know what his final decision is concerning his indiscriminate job offer.

"You keep poutin' like that and your face'll get stuck that way," Bones grumbles while he stitches up a rather nasty cut that's long and deep on Scotty's back.

Since Jim's got nothing better to do, she decides to linger. She enjoys watching her best friend in 'Doctor Mode' anyway. She says, "I can pout all I want." She crosses her arms as she swings back and forth lazily on a wheelie chair. "And I'm not pouting."

Bones snorts, barely throwing her a cursory glance as his gaze burns with concentration while his steady hands continue to thread Scotty's red flesh together. His latex gloves are riddled with blood.

Scotty doesn't seem bothered in the least.

"Are you going to the Halloween Bash?"

"No," Bones grumbles.

"Why not?"

"I don't have the time."

"Liar—your such an introvert, it's painful."

Bones doesn't bother defending himself on that point. "I'm hailing Joanna," he distantly explains, but it's more than enough.

Jim decides not to push the issue. "So what did you do this time, Mr. Scott?" she asks, steering the attention from Bones to her jovial chief engineer.

That gets Bones to glance at her gratefully before he goes right back to his stitching.

"Well, it's funny really," Scotty replies and says nothing else.

Jim laughs and shakes her head. "You're not going to tell me?" she supposes.

"Not as much as I would if I had wanted to say as I meant with the purpose of divulging indirectly but that's not entirely how much can be said if it were wanted to," Scott says in a roundabout sort of way that makes even Bones chuckle.

"You are the cheekiest bastard I've ever had the pleasure of knowing," Jim says with a thoroughly amused smile.

Scotty flushes and beams. "You flatter me much, Captain. Making sure I don't go away either, ey?"

The smile on Jim's face dies like a weak flame.

"Ah," Scotty says as he shifts uneasily. "I've gone and said the wrong thing now, haven't I?"

"It's fine," Jim mutters as her mouth sinks into unhappy curves.

"It can't be. You've gone back to brooding," Scotty points out, unhelpfully.

Jim rolls her eyes. "I'm _not _brooding," she maintains.

"Captain, you're brooding. I would know too—I've had my fair share of unhappy days," Scotty says. "Why not tell the Commander you don't want him to leave?"

"Because it would be selfish. And—Spock's already sacrificed enough," Jim says. She fidgets and rubs her stomach. She's developing a stomachache because of this. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. He can do what he wants."

"She's stubborn," Bones huffs. "She'd eat a barrel of raspberries before she'd admit she was allergic to them."

Jim sticks her tongue out at him. "Whatever," she mutters.

"Yeah, yeah," Bones gripes back as he starts to clean the area around Scotty's wound.

Jim spends the rest of the day in the med tent watching Bones shuffle back and forth doing his medical duties.

And she does _not _brood the whole time.

She doesn't.

If she's frowning loudly while she thinks about stuff, well, that's just a coincidence.

Pure coincidence.

888

The day of the Halloween Bash is one that Jim believes everyone has been anticipating with equal eagerness.

The party doesn't start until nine pm—plenty of time for people to do their usual daily duties and return to their tents to get ready—and it falls on a Saturday, which means everyone will have all of Sunday to sleep off the effects.

Sunday is the only off day anyone has.

The construction and completion of _Nu Shi'Kahr _is really a pressing matter.

Jim spends all hours before the party with her favorite female bosom buddies, Chapel and Uhura. They hide away in Jim's private quarters this time, killing time by playing dominoes, chatting about different topics, taking jello shots, and generally getting the party started earlier in their own way.

They don't actually start getting ready for the party until six o'clock.

Chapel gets outfitted in a period dress with a powder wig that looks as ridiculous as it sounds, and some ample cleavage she's quite proud of. She makes a stunning Marie Antoinette really.

Uhura's costume takes a lot more effort because Jim and Chapel have to help her slide into the skintight leather with white stitching everywhere—a true tribute to Michelle Pfeiffer's rendition of the cat suit. She looks super hot.

Jim hides away in her walk-in closet to slip on her costume. It's a Victoria Secret boxing outfit, complete with dark blue silk shorts with a red band around the waist and a white 'VS' on the front, a sparkly red sequin pushup bra with black edging (the boxing gloves match to it, right down to the sequins), some high heel red high top shoes, and a dark blue hooded silk robe with white lining. She struts her way out of her closet and does an obnoxious bow when Chapel and Uhura catcall and clap.

Three more jello shots later and they're all crammed in the bathroom.

Since Jim has the largest bathroom on the ship (partially because she has to share with Spock), it makes sense that the three of them stand side-by-side and share the mirror.

Chapel fusses and fusses until Uhura lets her do her makeup. She actually does Uhura's makeup really well and she preens when Uhura praises her for her efforts.

"Was there ever any doubts, lovie?" Chapel purrs as she begins working on her own makeup.

Uhura snorts and watches her.

Jim does her own makeup, and then she curls her blonde hair in loose spiral curls. She has a very long internal debate with herself about whether or not she should just wear her hair down. She doesn't usually when she's not alone. But she ends up making a compromise with herself to wear it down, but only because she's going to keep her hood up. When she's satisfied by the full effect of how she looks, she hands her PADD to Uhura, stands against a blank wall and posses.

(**_photo can be found through the links of LJ and AO3 account in profile_**)

After Jim picks a perfectly acceptable picture she likes, they pass her PADD between them, snapping photos with wild poses and laughing over them.

When Chapel and Uhura make Jim promise to forward all the photos to their PADDs, they leave a quarter to nine and beam down onto the surface of New Vulcan.

They stumble and lean on each other as they make their way to the expanded Mess tent, which has been decked inside and out with spooktacular Halloween themed decorations. They go through the mouth flaps and are instantly immersed into a kaleidoscope of lights.

Since Jim is the designated DJ of the night, she ambles her way over to the DJ booth in the back that sits high on a low stage with large speakers and turntables. She hooks up her PADD and goes through her music library for songs she deems acceptable, and she goes out of her way to pull from each and every decade. She places some overly large headphones around her neck and starts playing music as she blends genres together with the help of the turntables.

An hour into the party and the expanded tent comes alive with the mass of costumed bodies. It's quite a turnout, but Jim knew it would be and she's glad that she and Sulu had anticipated the occupancy with the proper accommodations.

Just as she thinks of Sulu, he appears. He climbs into her booth and he's dressed as someone he explains is called Kakashi from a manga called Naruto—and yeah, Jim doesn't have a clue about it.

"Nerd," Jim teases as she sticks out her tongue at him and pulls away from the turntables long enough to give him a hug while tugging at a grey strand of his wig.

"Whatever, Jim," Sulu shouts over the music and pulls back to study her with the one eye he has exposed from under ninja bandana and mask. "Should I have security scaling this booth? I don't want anyone climbing in here to get at you. I mean, damn, Jim—you went all out didn't you?"

"No, shut up," Jim laughs and shoves at his shoulder as he laughs too. "I'll take that as a compliment due though. Isn't this crazy?" She gestures out to the crowd before she switches tracks to a blended track of '_The Fight_' by Sia and the '_Call Me_ _Remix'_ by Blondie 2.0. "Looks like everyone is here."

"I know!" Sulu bellows with an elated grin. "I'm so pumped about that. It's better than I could've hoped. This is why I want us to keep doing things like this. It'll be fantastic for morale."

Jim nods in agreement as she presses one of her headphones to her ear and bobs to the music. "Well I'm behind you a hundred percent on that," she says after a while. "Where's Chekov?"

"Over there with Scotty at the refreshment tables. They're debating about something, I don't know. They're always debating," Sulu huffs and makes a face that says 'what can you do, really?' and rolls his eyes.

Jim snorts as she flicks her blue eyes over to them.

Scotty is costumed as leprechaun, curly red beard and all, (Keenser is dressed as his pot of gold) and he's gesturing wildly at Chekov, who's costumed as an adorable bear.

"Awe," Jim says and snickers. "He looks so cute."

"I know right? He says he wasn't aiming for that but," Sulu shrugs. "Well there you have it. Listen I'm gonna let you do your thing, I don't want to distract you."

Jim waves him off with careless frown as she switches tracks to something a little more current. '_Automatic_' by Roman Clutch begins to blare.

"Aw, yeah. That's my jam right there." Sulu gives her the thumbs up before he leaves.

Jim snickers before turns her attention back to her playlist and she watches in satisfaction as everyone dances and responds positively to her choice of music.

The night sails on and the party really picks up around midnight.

Chapel and Uhura decide to grace Jim with their presence around that time and they press lipstick kisses to Jim's cheeks.

Jim rolls her eyes because it's obvious that they're drunk if they're so ready to invade her personal space like this. She's a bit envious, to be truthful. She wishes she could throw back some shots like that.

"You're the best DJ ever," Chapel slurs as she sits on the chair in the corner. "I mean that—I do. You are the best. Sexy and multi-talented. Hitting all my kinks."

"Personally," Uhura says as she points her finger in no particular direction with the attempt of appearing serious about what she was trying to say. "Personally—I always thought that your taste in music suck. No, I mean like, I _thought _that your taste in music _might_ suck. But I was _wrong. _Wrong, wrong, wrong. I'm happy I'm wrong. I love you, Jamie. I do. I love you and your stupid beautiful face. You are so pretty and I love you."

Jim laughs and rolls her eyes as she switches track. She's not at all surprised when Uhura stumbles up behind her and wraps her arms around her shoulders in a sloppy hug.

"_Boop_," Uhura quips as she pokes Jim's breast and laughs for no obvious reason besides utter inebriation. She whispers, "You are my favorite to boop. You better not never tell nobody. I wont boop you anymore if you do." Louder, she proclaims, "You know I told Spock to come. This is his party too. He should be around and have fun with us cause he's apart of our crew. He's in our clique. And no one fucks with the clique. He _better _come."

"I don't think he's interested. I haven't seen him," Jim says in a distracted fashion as she switches tracks again.

"Oh he'll show up," Uhura maintains as she plays with Jim's curls.

Chapel is passed out and hanging off the foldout chair. Her wig has somehow ended up on the floor.

"What makes you so sure he'll show up?" Jim asks over the music.

Uhura cups her hands over Jim's ear as if to tell a secret. "Because I forwarded a picture of you to him. Trust me. He'll show," she says confidently.

Jim opens her mouth to say something smart and sarcastic, but she spots a speck of blue in the crowd and it derails her line of thought for a fraction of a second.

Spock is making his way to the booth.

Jim blinks and watches him maneuver his way through the crowd.

Uhura pulls away with a sloppy grin and she looks so intensely smug that it's sickening. "Ears burning? We were just talking about you," she says as he climbs into the small booth with them.

Spock's eyebrow quirks in question and he flicks his gaze between her and Jim before he says, "I am unsure as to how to interpret that statement."

Uhura shrugs and leans up to kiss him on the cheek. "Don't worry about it, Spock. I'm glad you could make it to the festivities—even if it is three hours late," she says. She turns and walks over to Chapel, shaking the curvy nurse awake and ushering her to her feet. "I'm gonna see Christine out. I think she's tapped out for the night. Jim, we're gonna crash in your tent—is that alright with you?"

Jim nods and watches them stumble out of the booth with silent amusement. She puts on 'Thriller' by Michael Jackson and the crowd roars in excitement as they begin to do the dance.

Spock steps up beside her and they're shoulder to shoulder almost. His dark eyes are studying the equipment with unrestrained curiosity.

Jim smiles fondly and removes her headphones. She puts them around his neck before he can protest and says, "You should try it. I need a break anyway. You know what to do right? It's easier than it looks, and since you're a highly intelligent being, I know you can figure it out."

Spock furrows his brow and says, "I am familiar with the concept, but I do not believe it would be wise for me to take charge in your stead."

"Is that a pretty way of saying your afraid to be the DJ?" Jim teases and laughs when Spock graces her with a flat look. "You'll be fine. It's just one song—or three. I know you have to know at least one good one. Type the title in the search bar." She points to the screen of her PADD. "And let your inner DJ shine, because I know you have one. You have too much rhythm in your shoulders to not."

"No rhythm resides in the vicinity of my shoulders," Spock remarks with a confounded frown.

Jim laughs as she puts on her sparkly boxing gloves. "You're cute, but I know that. And I think you know what I meant, but whatever. Just do this one thing for me please? I am thirsty and I have to pee and do other humanly things or I'll die," she begs with an exaggerated pout. "Look, I have complete and utter faith in your ability to hold everything down." She lightly punches his arm with a wink before she climbs out of the booth before he can convince her to do otherwise.

Jim navigates through the crowd of gyrating bodies, dodging a plethora of drunken grabby hands (both male and female alike), and she finally finds her way outside. Finding the nearest porta-potty is easy enough, and she spends the next three minutes draining her bladder before she returns to the expanded Mess tent.

There are so many bodies, like an entire sea, and it takes a bit of maneuvering on Jim's part to find the refreshment table. She makes it there unscathed and she begins grabbing handfuls of candies while simultaneous cramming her greedy mouth with cookies and cupcakes.

Sulu, Chekov, and Scotty come to her with flushed faces and inebriated grins.

"Wonderful turnout, Captain, really, and I mean that," Scotty declares over the pulse of music and he grins when Jim doesn't fight the urge to fiddle with his faux curly red beard. "And pardon my confusion, but I could swear that Commander Spock is up in the DJ booth. But of course he isn't, because he wouldn't and I'm obviously hallucinating."

"No that's him," Jim confirms between chews as she glances over at her First Officer. His face is blank as ever as he manipulates the turntables with expert grace that Jim usually only sees when he's at his station aboard the Enterprise. It's a compelling thing to watch.

"It _cannae_ be him," Scotty slurs in disbelief, his accent deepening with the sticky slowness of his tongue.

"She just said it was. You need glasses, Monty," Sulu quips as he takes another sip from his soda can.

"I told you!" Chekov hisses triumphantly, his blackly colored nose twitching in agitation when Scotty waves him off.

"How'd you get him to do that?" Scotty asks with a bemused expression as he strokes his faux beard.

"I don't make him do anything. He does what he wants," Jim simply reports. She swipes the back of her hand across her mouth before she says, "Hey, any of you have your PADD on you? Mine is being utilized right now."

"Hikaru has been taking the pictures all night," Chekov exclaims and nudges Sulu, who grumbles with an agreeable nod as he compliantly hands his PADD over.

"Forward those pictures to me," Jim demands as she points a stern finger at him while she takes it.

"You and everyone else seems to be trying to wring my photography skills dry," Sulu sardonically remarks, but he nods nonetheless.

Jim aims his PADD at the DJ booth towards Spock, and she uses her thumb and index finger to zoom in on his upper body. She waits until he looks up and over at her before she sticks her tongue out at him and snaps the photo.

Spock's face is priceless.

Jim snickers to herself as she forwards it to her PADD and erases it from Sulu's library. He doesn't get the luxury of having such a golden moment, and so what if Jim is being selfish. If Spock will be leaving them soon, she might as well keep some things to remember him by.

"Alright, I'm done," she proclaims as she hands Sulu back his PADD. She puts on her sparkly boxing gloves and poses for him when he asks.

Two pictures later, Scotty and Chekov are jumping in beside her, striking ridiculous poses that make her laugh explosively.

Sulu snaps away and captures every single moment of it.

Next thing they know, Lieutenant Giotto comes along, costumed as a giant cupcake, frilly pink frosting, glitter tights and all. He smiles wryly and winks at Jim because he knows that she is the only one that gets the joke.

Giotto wins major cool points in her book.

Jim absolutely has to take some pictures with him, and she does—giving him high-fives and crouching on one knee to take a pose where she pretends to be gnawing at the bottom end of his cupcake costume.

She takes a few photos with Sulu, and then all of them, with the outside aide of one of her many officers, before she waves goodbye. She returns to the DJ booth, despite the protests she garners from her fellow peers and she also has to stop along the way when she's petitioned for group photos by her junior officers. She climbs in the booth and saddles up beside Spock, taking the DJ reigns from him, much to his unspoken relief apparently.

"You did good," Jim laughs as she wraps the headphones around her neck.

Spock straightens his posture at the praise and tucks his pale hands at the base of his spine. "While I have no qualms about offering you an opportunity for momentary rest, I find that I do not enjoy this activity. I find the general task unappealing. I believe the appropriate human metaphor is '_not being one's cup of tea'_," he clinically states.

"Maybe you're missing the point," Jim suggests as she switches track to a milder beat. "It's about the joy of catering to the musical whims of the masses. It's a bit of a learning curve too, since a person can't possibly know the music taste of each and every individual. I'm basically acting as a happy medium."

"I see," Spock simply murmurs as he watches her hands move across the turntables and to her PADD.

Jim doesn't believe him for a second. "You should've wore a costume," she says. "I bet you'd be a sight for sore eyes in a pirate get-up."

"I would have presumed such a thing to be something more of your preference," Spock counters passively. "You had favoring ideals for them in your youth."

Jim flushes and shoots him a glare that he pretends not to notice as he gazes into the crowd. "Don't tease me, okay? I happen to still think pirates are the grandest individuals, and that's nobody's business but ours. So I'll thank you not to use it as ammunition," she huffs with mortified sincerity.

"Forgive me, Captain. It was not my intention to jest," Spock stoically replies, but the amused gleam in his eye is far from innocent or repentant. "I have accounted many occasions where you have used your personal knowledge of me as a means to garner a specific response. It was my initial belief that you would respond in kind to my equated efforts."

"An eye for an eye, huh?" Jim clarifies as she snorts. "Why, Mr. Spock—are you saying that I'm to blame for your superfluous behavior?"

"Such an inquiry is unnecessary. You comprehend well enough," Spock states with a lifted brow.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," Jim sings as she switches tracks and blends two slow songs together to end the party on a good note.

Spock cocks his head towards the entrance of the booth where Rand is stumbling up the steps.

"The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge!" Rand slurs, cheeks flushed red with his inebriation. There is a carefree grin on his lips as holds up a plastic skull that is befitting to his renaissance rendition of the Hamlet costume. "Mr. Spock. Ms. Kirk. It is good to see you with my eyes. I'm not here to be a bother or anything. I just need to do a little note passing." He reaches inside his sleeve and says, "I was told with the greatest urgency to give this to you by this person who was wearing a grim reaper costume. And that you can't look at it until you're by yourself. So promise that."

Jim ignores the fact that Rand is obviously drunk and says, "I promise. Hand it over."

Rand does, and does a sloppy curtsey/bow before he stumbles away with nothing further add.

"Peculiar," Spock remarks lowly as he watches after Rand for a long moment. "I was unaware that you and Yeomen Rand were on speaking terms."

"Why wouldn't we be on speaking terms?" Jim questions as she stuffs the folded note into the side of her sparkly bra.

Spock doesn't respond, but he does turn his attention to her with mild curiosity in his dark eyes.

Jim narrows her blue eyes and says, "You know about the proposal. You read it off of me the other day, didn't you?"

"Inadvertently," Spock concedes, evenly. "I cannot pick and choose what information is relayed to me through you by touch. There was a considerable abundance of unfiltered information received. The body is much more honest than the individual themselves. That sole reason alone is why Vulcans refrain from initiating all manner of physical contact that requires the use of our hands."

Jim's cheeks redden in mortified horror. "What exactly _did_ you pick up?" she squeaks.

Spock looks decidedly uncomfortable and guilty. He turns his gaze elsewhere. "This is not the proper place for such a discussion," he carefully says.

"Oh my God," she mumbles, and feels queasy enough that she might throw up. If she does, she'll certainly aim at Spock because _fucking fuck of fuck_. He knows too much—more than she would want him to know at present. Fuck.

Sulu appears a moment later, much to her relief, and he asks her to set up the microphone so he can address the crowd.

Jim does and eases out of the booth with Spock in tow.

"_Haikei,_ everyone. I hope you had a good time," Sulu says and the crowd cheers an affirmative that makes him smile. "Awesome. See that's what I like to hear." He gives an approving nod as they clap again. He goes on to say, "Unfortunately, this party is coming to a close. No worries, however. This is just the first of many events to come—"

Jim doesn't stick around to hear the rest. She's pretty sure it would only go in one ear and out the other, anyway. She'd be too worried about other things to really listen.

She walks out into the night air and shivers anxiously against the muggy heat.

Spock walks silently beside her as they tread toward the Southern Mountains.

The jagged outline of this massive heap of rock can be faintly seen. Even in the darkness of the night.

There are small lamps set up to and fro throughout both Vulcan and human camps.

Jim keeps a steady pace as the spread of the artificial lights of the camps loses its reach on them as the night starts to swallow them in inky darkness. Somehow Jim thinks it'll make little difference for Spock.

Bones had told her once that a Vulcan's periphery vision is much like a cat's. They have ability to see, even in the darkest of places.

Jim supposes that this might be the reason they refrain from using bright colors of any manner. It could be distracting.

Jim snorts drolly. Now she really wonders what they must think of her—what with her bright hair, bright eyes, and tendency to sport neon color schemes in her wardrobe.

"I have been told by countless individuals that you were disagreeable to my attempts to contemplate the job offered to me," Spock says, breaking the shallow silence between them. "However, your actions have been less than candid. You led me to believe that you were indifferent. Why?"

Jim takes a moment to put on her sparkly boxing gloves, just because she can, just because she feels awkward and out of place. Concentrating on something other than the upset she can scarcely perceive in his voice is helping her own resolve remain steady. She says, "I wasn't trying to be dishonest." She turns until they are standing face to face. "I was trying not to be selfish, Spock. But I was also upset because I couldn't really figure out why you would want to accept it. Logistics aside—I felt like you were saying more to me than what you really were. Like maybe this is your way of telling me that this little camaraderie we have isn't working and you want out."

"I cannot comprehend how you are able to misread my actions for such a negative indication," Spock stiffly comments. "If you had been direct about your feelings, we could have absolved the misunderstanding."

"Don't say it like that. Like it's that easy. Nothing's _ever _been easy when it comes to us," Jim retorts angrily. "I put my feelings aside for _you_—because I didn't want to be the bitch that never let you breathe. So if you wanted to stay, fine. If you wanted to leave, fine. The point was to let you decide what you wanted for yourself, regardless of what I thought because who am I to you that I should keep you from doing what you want or what you think is right. Who am I?" She touches her gloves together as she goes on to say, "I'm your captain. I'm your colleague. But I'm always your friend first. _Always_."

"I will say this," Spock brusquely states with a serious frown. "Friends need not agree in everything or go always together, or have no comparable other friendships of the same intimacy. Everything that is decided between us as friends is for the purpose of altering consciousness. Our friendship, Jim, is not established on political correctness and enforced conformity of thought. I chose to be your friend out of mutual respect, honesty, and understanding. I value your judgment for those very reasons as well."

"Fine," Jim merely says. She's frustrated now because she feels cornered, and he's treating her like some kind of delicate child that needs to be soothed with gentle words.

"It is not '_fine_'," Spock severely corrects. "This does nothing to litigate the fact that you have been less than forthcoming."

"Don't lecture me, Spock. Not now. Not about this. I can name plenty instances when you were _less than forthcoming _about your feelings. Oh, excuse me—_nonexistent _emotions," Jim tersely replies. She blows out an impatient breath before she rests her gloved hands on the crown of her head. "We need to really cut the bullshit and _talk_. Sit down. I'm not going to stand and do this." She plops down on the ground and folds her legs under her.

Spock reluctantly follows and he mirrors her.

Jim yanks off her boxing gloves and scoots forward until their knees are touching. She then folds her hands in the dip of her open thighs and tries to make out the curves of his face. It's too dark, and she can only see the tips of his ears, his black hair, his eyebrows and his science shirt.

Spock's gaze, however, is burning right through her. It makes her feel like she has a thousand neon lights beaming her way and all at once. She can sense him scrutinizing her with little difficulty, and though he remains silent, the lines of his shoulders sit with a palpable edge of curiosity and apprehension.

Jim takes a steadying breath before she says, "We're going to really talk, okay? I mean _really _talk. This exchange has to be fair and candid. If we're going to take this one chance to be completely honest with each other then we're going to do it right," she unchangingly decides.

"Very well," Spock concedes with predictable reluctance, but there is something almost soft in his monotone voice—like sentiment. It's confusing.

Jim pulls her hood down and finger combs her hair into messy bun on the top of her head with the aid of the yellow rubber band around her wrist. She sighs again and uses her fingers to smooth the wily short hairs of her neatly arched eyebrows. Then, when she knows she can no longer avoid it, she carefully dismantles the apprehension and fear she feels swelling in her gut and finds the courage to say what she's been meaning to.

Spock wordlessly cups his hands over the curve of his knees. His hot fingers lightly brush the grooves of her bare knees.

Jim fidgets, but she doesn't mind the touch. She focuses on the sensation of the heat of the night and the warmth of the ground. The quiet air between them is different—things feel different now somehow. It's strange, but its also alluring in its own way—it appeals to the appetite of Jim's curiosity.

It feels as if they're standing on the respective sides of their fences, waiting for the other to make a move.

"I would hate it if you left and I'll probably cry. There. I said it," Jim confesses with pink cheeks she knows he can see and _that's _just so unfair. She pushes on regardless. "I'll support your decision either way. You know I will. Even if I don't like the outcome, and I have a feeling I might not. But I'll respect the decision you make and I won't contest it. Now—your turn."

"I am unsure of what it is I should say," Spock states with unmistakable reservation.

"You can start by telling me what it is your people have been saying about you," Jim cleverly suggests.

Spock pauses, and she can hear the frown. "I—have misled you," he says.

"About what?" she calmly asks.

"It is not on my behalf that they aim their negative remarks. The intention is to disrespect you, and our association to each other," Spock professes.

Jim's hands tighten into fists reflexively as her shoulders and eyebrows tighten in anger. "Ugh, I could just choke you sometimes," she exclaims as she glares at him. "You should have told me!"

"I did not want you to be troubled by the matter. You were already preoccupied by the very assumption of their judgments toward you," Spock points out, unhelpfully. "And I must ask that you make no attempts of asphyxiation."

"Concern or not, you should have told me," Jim insists. She makes another frustrated sound as she knocks her knees into his hands intentionally. "And to think I felt sorry for you and offered to stick up for you! I must have looked like an idiot. God."

"I apologize. It was not my intention to make you feel foolish," Spock assures.

"Well it's too late to say sorry now," Jim huffs. She shakes her head angrily as she fidgets with her upset. "That's it. I'm learning Vulcan. I can't stand this. I've been driven to learning your language. And you're to blame for it as well. I don't like people talking over my head about me. And what about your brother huh? What was all that stuff you two were talking about during his impromptu visit?"

"I would rather not say," Spock curtly utters. It's obvious she's struck some kind of sore point.

"Oh no you don't. Honesty hour, remember? Now tell me."

Spock's shoulders huddle and expand with his agitation as his fingers twitch. "He has plans to challenge me if I do not make my claim for you blatant."

"What? What am I—land? No one's claiming anything," Jim heatedly declares. "If people don't like the fact that we're friends, then that's their problem. No one is going to push us to do anything we aren't comfortable with. You can tell your brother he can shove all that presumptuousness up his ass."

"_Jim_," Spock gently rebukes, but the corners of his lips are twitching.

Jim snorts and says, "I see that almost smile, Spock. You totally agree."

"Whether I agree is of little importance. Sybok will petition T'Pau for the right to challenge me, and since we have not participated in a unifying ceremony, she will be unable to refuse. Such is the ways of our people," Spock explains. The tone of his voice is interlaced with a quiet apology.

"You're not fighting for my honor. I won't have it," Jim stubbornly remarks as she crosses her arms petulantly. "I can fight for my own honor."

"Vulcan strength is nearly twenty times greater than that of a human's," Spock warns with a disapproving tone.

"I never said I was going to physically brawl with him. There must be other ways—_civilized _ways to combat his proposition. I'm sure I'll come up with something," Jim says with impermeable confidence.

"Very well. I trust your judgment," Spock simply states.

"Oh do you?" Jim challenges. "Why's that?"

"You were the topmost student of all your courses, one of which was _Advanced Theory and Relative Tactics_," Spock says in that intellectual tone that's both annoying and intriguing to Jim.

"How the fuck do you know that?"

Spock, ignoring her profanity, says, "I studied your academic profile before we convened in Admiral Pike's office to litigate your disreputable endeavor to cheat throughout the Kobayashi Maru simulation."

"Still pissed about that huh?" Jim grins slyly as she thinks on the memory with smug fondness. "Admit it—I got you good on that one."

"I will not admit to anything," Spock firmly replies. "Your methods were both unsubstantiated and depraved."

"_Depraved?_ I took an unwinnable scenario and made it _winnable_. How could that be unsubstantiated? The whole simulation itself was a cheat," Jim argues, hackles rising as her cheeks flush angrily. "You _know_ that it was baseless!"

"Nevertheless, I do not condone cheating," Spock stoically sustains.

"Stuffy Vulcan," Jim mutters as she gently shoves his shoulder as her anger cools off into amused affection. "Just admit that I managed to pull one over on you."

"You pulled nothing over me," Spock mulishly disputes.

"_Yes I did_," Jim sings mockingly. "I bet it still burns you too. You want to know how I did it, don't you?"

Spock says nothing, but his silence is completely telling.

Jim snickers and then laughs explosively when she feels his tempered glare. "You're such a sore loser," she decides.

Spock says nothing still. He is festering in his agitation apparently.

"It's not going to make you any happier to know that I did it all with just a bobby pin and an old gaming chip," Jim whispers as she leans toward him and uses his shoulders to push herself to her feet before she stumbles back. She swipes her sparkly boxing gloves off the floor and shoves them under her right armpit.

Spock stands with a lot more grace and says, "Was it a beta version?"

Jim grins as she walks backwards toward the human camps. "What? The bobby pin? No, I got it from a dollar store for sixty-five cents."

"Your humor is unappreciated," Spock somberly clarifies as he matches her step for step.

Jim laughs and shrugs cheekily. "You just haven't realized how great my humor is," she corrects.

Spock refrains from commenting and, instead, turns her by her shoulders so that she's facing the appropriate way before he releases the hold completely. He explains that he is ensuring that she doesn't injure herself by walking backwards.

Jim just rolls her eyes and bumps her shoulders into his with a wordless thanks.

She doesn't say anything when he escorts her to her tent and leaves with a reserved goodnight. And she doesn't enter her tent right away, instead, she watches after Spock as he wanders over to the Vulcan camps and disappears from sight.

Jim sighs and slides inside her tent, rolling her eyes at the way Chapel and Uhura are sprawled across her bed in their underwear, barely leaving any space.

She strips down to her panties and frowns when she hears the soft clatter of the folded note hitting the floor when she unhooks her bra and takes it off. She leaves it there for a moment in order to shuffle into an orange tank top. Afterwards, she picks up the folded note and clutches it as she ambles over to her crowded bed and wiggles between Chapel and Uhura.

With the two of them pressing their backs into both of her sides, she unfolds the note and reads the contents.

_My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth _

_A bird that will revenge upon you all: _

_And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, _

_Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. _

Jim frowns with drowsy confusion, and she chants the contents of the note in her mind over and over, turning it with a small hope that she can find clarity in the vaguely familiar words.

She sighs and closes her eyes, scratching at her neck as she turns onto her stomach while she drifts into sleep as the sun begins to peek up over the horizon.

Jim feels the press of something coming, even in her sleep.

_Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh._

The flap of wings and the ringing caws—it all calls to her soul and reminds her of things she has forgotten but cannot grasp.

Of birds and fire and death.

Omens—all of them.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_I am in such a rush. School will be starting in a month or so, and I have a full course load—which means there might be some major long gaps in updates and such. Hopefully I can finish this part of the series before then._

_Say something guys, don't leave me hanging. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Seven**

Thomas Leighton was not a contrite man. He was no believer of anything and he understood that the laws of the universe never worked in anyone's favor, least of all his.

So why exactly is he standing outside of Madame Sekhmet's tent?

_Hopelessness will destroy you_, Leighton thinks. _That's what Riley always said._

"Fate has brought you here, yes?" Madame Sekhmet supposes as she puffs away on her long wooden pipe while she sways in her rocking chair. "You've come for a reason."

"I don't know why I came, alright?" Leighton grumbles as he glances around warily with his one good eye. He doesn't want anyone from the camps to see him doing this. It's no one's business but his own. "I just—I need some answers."

"I can assure you that you have come to the right place," Madame Sekhmet assures as she stands with struggle. The old hag reaches for her cane and she walks inside her tent with much difficulty.

Leighton hesitates. He presses the wrist strapped in a dark red wrist support sleeve to his chest and he rubs his fingers against the fabric with his other hand. He ultimately decides to follow the old gypsy inside and when he enters her tent he finds that she's waiting for him at a table with a crystal ball. The place smells of tea leaves and incense.

Madame Sekhmet gestures to the empty seat on the other side of the table.

Leighton sits down and rest both hands in his lap with a grim expression.

"What can Madame Sekhmet do for you?"

"I don't know."

"Not knowing is no good."

"Well I don't know," Leighton snaps. "The whole point of getting you people here was to find someone."

"Someone from your past," Madame Sekhmet reasons. "You have a longstanding grudge with this man, yes?"

Leighton stiffens in his seat as his one-eyed gaze sharpened. "You could not possibly know that."

"There is a lot Madam Sekhmet knows that she should not," the old gypsy says. "I know that you are of a bitter hate, lusting for revenge against a man who you feel has wronged you. He took your beloved from you, did he not?"

Leighton inhales thickly, as though struck by some invisible force. "Yes," he hoarsely confesses. "He took everything from me."

"No man can take from that which is already freely given," Madame Sekhmet corrects. "What is your business with this man? What do you mean to do? What purpose do you have to bring him here? As if I didn't already know."

"Then why ask?" Leighton snarls. "If you know it all, what is the point of asking me?"

"I'd rather hear it from you," Madame Sekhmet calmly says.

"I want to kill him. I want to kill him and I want James Kirk to suffer for it too," Leighton hisses.

Madame Sekhmet's lips curl. "I don't believe I _want _her to suffer. I want to scare her—that fear makes her so pretty. She's upset me, but I don't want to hurt her. What loving father wants to cause his child pain?" Her eyes gleam, and suddenly, Leighton can't help but to notice how familiar her eyes seem. "Who are you to decide who suffers, in any case? Stupid boy. Thirteen years and you're still stupid as ever."

The sudden baritone that comes from the old gypsy's throat takes Leighton aback and he can certainly place those cold lifeless eyes. "Kodos?"

"Stupid boy," Madame—no—Kodos snarls. "Did you really think I'd be so easily captured? I've known what you meant to do with me when you took my troupe and I from Earth. But I _let _you, do you understand? I let you because I knew you would lead me to her."

Leighton blinks before he flushes an ugly purple. "You fucking fuck—"

Kodos curls his finger into the trigger of the phaser he's been hiding under the table the whole time.

Leighton flies back and lands onto the floor with a gurgle. He's not dead, just stunned.

"Can't have you ruining my plans, stupid boy," Kodos says with a disapproving cluck of his tongue. He stands and begins dragging Leighton's unconscious body into the deepest pocket of his tent. When the night comes, he'll have to move the idiot to one of the boxcars. "Don't worry, boy. I won't kill you. I'll have my protégé do it. What a grand reunion that will be—I do hope she's gotten my note."

Kodos cackles as he shoves Leighton into one of his empty chests and locks it. He turns away, picks up the cane and pipe, and walks back to the outside of the tent where he sits into the rocking chair, falling into character again.

Madame Sekhmet smiles and winks at an officer that passes by her tent.

Leighton doesn't stir until much later, but by then, it's too late.

888

Jim wakes up with Spock's name rolling like ocean waves in her mind, and it swells some kind of frothy feeling in the center of her chest. It stalls there like a fixed point almost, because when she wakes up, she doesn't wake up altogether. The sensation is much like being pulled out of the deep end of a pool. First she feels her arm go, then her shoulders, her hips, her knees, her head, her legs, and then the rest follows. The feeling never ceases—her body moving through some kind of thickly tangible haze; all the while her awareness of Spock and his name floats pleasantly in her mind like a feather on an ocean of oil.

_And how fitting that we're like that, _she dazedly thinks with a tiredly confused, yet pondering grin. _I am the feather and he is the oil_. _How can those things reside together?_

Jim eventually succumbs to the rightness of her body when she feels a feather-light touch ghosting over her hip where her Starfleet medical division badge tattoo is. The touch is followed by a light scrape of blunt fingernails tracing the cross found in the center of the tattoo. She shivers—the skin there is extremely sensitive—and she peeks one eye open, straining against the hot sunlight encasing the outside of her tent. It's so bright that it seems like the sun is trying to find its way in. She takes a few moments blinking and adjusting against it all like a newborn that's withdrawn from the darkness of its mother's womb.

When she finds a happy medium for her sight, she flicks her gaze down to where Chapel is at her hip and tracing over the tattoo with an expression of considerable curiosity. Her red painted fingernails flex and jump over her tattooed hip like a set of jumping beans, and she seems to be contemplating the origin of the tattoo, if her expression is anything to go back.

Jim pulls her gaze to her orange tank top, which is bunched under her small breasts (Chapel must have moved it for a better view because Jim doesn't flail in her sleep like that). The elastic band of her underwear is digging gently into her skin, but all she can do is focus on that touch just for a moment.

It's hot, but it's always hot of course—it's not called New Vulcan for nothing. Even still, it is a heat that Jim is getting used to. She finds that it's growing on her. What was once sweltering and unbearable, is now heavily comforting and wholly neighboring like a blanket or a gentle presence.

_Could be a good thing_, Jim thinks, as she shifts into Chapel's touch subconsciously. _If Spock decides to take the job—and I think he will, though I wish he wouldn't—I'll have built up enough tolerance to endure this heat to come and visit him as often as I can or if he'd want me to._

Jim quietly wonders if he would even care or miss her. She'd like to think so—she'd liked to believe he's fond of her in some way. Sometimes she can read it off him like a blind person can read brail on a wall. But other times he just stands there in full form, devoid of any sentiment, and she can't see beyond his physicality.

They've come to some kind of understanding haven't they? Last night was progress, but—so many buts. He's made his reasoning for his continued friendship with her clear, but at the same time she's not sure if its enough to know whether or not he'll be affected in the least by her absence. Did Vulcans miss people or things?

_I don't want to think about this anymore, I'll spin myself into an unpleasant mood and that's not how I want to start my November, _she silently decides as she concentrates on the curious scrapes and traces of Chapel's red painted fingernails.

Minutes pass before Jim breathes out with an announcing sigh and stretches out like a lethargically limber cat.

Chapel pulls back with a grin. Her eyes are sparkling happily adding appealing depth to her gorgeousness. What's even more charming is that her hair is skewed from sleep. "Good afternoon, Goldie," she says with good manner as she props her chin in her hand and graces her captain with an exquisite smile that could make flowers bloom.

"Good afternoon," Jim returns with a breathy, pleasant smile. She laces her hands behind her head as she continues to gaze down at the curvy nurse sporting hot pink underwear. "What time is it?"

"I believe we're edging into two o'clock," Chapel replies as she rubs at the side of her nose with one hand and she looks at the inside of her other wrist where there is a watch sitting in wait. She nods in a confirming way as she rolls her bottom lip between her teeth and releases it with a wet pop. "But, you know, I think _we all_ slept good after last night, so you wouldn't be the only one starting your Sunday as of now."

"Who says I'm starting my Sunday now?" Jim yawns around a chuckle. She does feel well-rested and blissful. She grins for reasons unknown (even to her) and feels giddy enough to float off into the sky and join the clouds. Oh it's a good day already—she likes that.

"My, aren't you in good spirits this afternoon? I wonder why," Chapel says with a pondering sort of stare. Her pink mouth wiggles thoughtfully as her nose scrunches with her contemplation. Something sharp and hopeful passes like lightening in her inquisitive eyes that it almost startles Jim.

"What?"

"Nothing," Chapel assures as she relaxes her face. "I was just thinking that maybe we should throw more parties. You wear them well."

Jim laughs quick and joltingly, but she doesn't disagree. She shrugs before she rises into a sitting position. "Did you call me Goldie?"

"You're a little slow on the uptake, but yeah, I did. It's my new nickname for you. You're pure gold, Jamie," Chapel clarifies as she sits up on her knees. She sits back on her calves. She pulls her honey colored hair out of her face and does a delicious wink before she goes on to say, "The Bash last night was beyond amazing, with all thanks to you as a DJ."

"I did what I could," Jim says, modestly enough. "But I saw that that was enough, even though I was locked up in that booth for most of the night like a bird in a cage." She scratches the side of her neck as her stomach grumbles, appetite building up. "Where's Nyota?"

"Lovie's having lunch with Monty," replies Chapel as she wiggles her eyebrows in a lecherous manner and uses her fingers to wipe the space under her eyes clear of smudged mascara.

"No, shut up," Jim utters in amazement as she slaps her hand down over Chapel's.

"Oh yeah," Chapel confirms with a laugh as she lifts Jim's hand and teethes her knuckles playfully. "She's got a hard-on for your Chief Engineer, I'm telling you. Oh but don't tell her I told you that because she would strangle me. But it wasn't like you wouldn't have figured it out eventually anyway—what with the way things are going and all."

Jim shakes her head out of sheer amazement and awe. She uses her free hand to finger comb her fading curls out of her eyes before she says, "What luck. She really deserves it, though."

"Agreed," Chapel chimes as she laces her fingers with Jim and starts to mimic a wave. She is definitely an energetic person by nature. "So I was thinking that since she's going to be all tied up with her future husband, maybe you could come with me to the cultivation dinner being held tonight? I was invited, but I was told I could bring a plus one."

"Cultivation dinner?" Jim echoes with a thoughtful frown. Her mind briefly skims out the definitions for the word and its intended functions. "What's that all about?"

"Well," Chapel begins to explain as she keeps miming the wave with the aid of Jim's arm. "I heard they just completed all the agricultural and horticultural projects for the city. So tonight, they're having a sort of intimate and celebratory dinner for all the botanists and the scientists who were apart of making it possible. And of course Dr. Cruise organized and governed it all, so I think it was by his suggestion that they're having the dinner up on the Enterprise in one of the observation lounges. He's the one that personally invited me and now I'm inviting you because I don't want to go alone."

"And because Nyota was unavailable," Jim points out listlessly.

Chapel scrunches her face cutely before she snags one of Jim's pillows and swats her on the side of the head with it. "Oh just shut up because you know it's not like that. I'm just used to asking Lovie and having her swing with me to places. Now that you've been added to our little duo, I know I can ask you to do things with me as well. Now are you going or not?"

"Well…" Jim drawls as she pulls her hand out of Chapel's and strokes her chin thoughtfully with a mockingly ponderous face. She's kidding of course, but she still wants Chapel to sweat for it. "Hm, I just—you know, I don't know…"

"Spock will be there," Chapel goads with a sly grin tugging at her full lips as she flutters her eyelashes obnoxiously.

Jim's expression sours as she glares and shoves a pillow in the lovely curvy nurse's face. "The nerve of you. What a majestic way to shit on my fun with your unnecessary jeering. I swear, if you and Nyota don't stop it with these tenuous allegations I will just—"

"So that wasn't him I heard dropping you off last night like a man escorting his date home? I mean, it would explain that totally ecstatic smile you woke up with," Chapel continues, despite the fact that she's dodging Jim's swings. "Lovie is right, you two are so obvious and oblivious it's—"

"I will kick you in the face, you pretty fucker," Jim scorns with a frustrated frown that fuels her accurate pillow jabs.

"Yeah, yeah. Are you going or not?" Chapel pants, swatting the pillow away and looking at Jim sincerely now. She quietly says, "Please, please, please?"

Jim throws down the pillow and folds her arms across her chest.

Chapel pouts and cocks her head as she twirls her finger around a strand of her hair. "_Please?_"

Jim purses her lips stubbornly.

Chapel leans forward and uses her arms to press her voluptuous breasts together as she look at Jim from under her lashes in an efficiently enticing manner. "Please, Jim. I need you," she murmurs with a sultry voice.

Jim sighs when her defenses dip towards arousal and she's forced to throw up her hands in surrender. "Fucking fine, you damn temptress! God, now I know how Bones feels."

Chapel makes an excited sound, claps her hands quickly, and tackles Jim into the cushiness of her comforter with a grateful and suffocating hug. "You are just gold, Goldie, and I love you, and I owe you one. And I swear not to make fun of you and Spock tonight if you guys happen to make googly eyes at each other."

"_We do not make_—oh my God, forget it. I'll just hold you to that," Jim mutters simply as she pats Chapel on the back with a gentle touch that morphs into something vindictive when she's reminded that her gal pal has nothing but her underwear on. So naturally she threads her small fingers into one of Chapel's bra straps and she _snaps _it, causing Chapel to shriek in alarm and jerk her body away.

"_Rude_," Chapel whines as she glares at her captain.

Jim just grins roguishly with satisfaction and shrugs. "What should I wear?"

"Something elegant and refined but not too upscale. These are people we know and people we don't and should. It's a private dinner so it's a bit upscale, but it's formal enough that we don't need to sport ball gowns," Chapel explains as she gathers to her feet and stretches. "Cocktail dresses should do just fine."

Jim just hums and eyes her unabashedly. "We should color coordinate," she decides.

"Let's do dark blue dresses with black heels and smoky eye makeup with gold jewelry," Chapel reasons with the sort of authoritative voice she usually only uses when she's side by side with Bones in the medbay.

Jim likes the overall idea, and it's why she decides not to argue. "What time does it start?"

"Little after eight, I think. But if not I'll just let you know," Chapel promises as she swaggers over to Jim's dresser and starts picking out some clothes. She slips on a pair of Jim's jogging pants and a tank top. "Can I snag these for keeps?"

"Yeah, I don't care."

"You have so many cute clothes, I might have to steal them more often," Chapel says with a grin and a wink.

"Hey, as long as you don't touch my shoes, we're good with that."

Chapel gives her a two-fingered salute after she gathers her costume and powdered wig, and then exits the small marquee with a promise of seeing her later.

Jim just sighs and falls back into the cushiness of her floor bed with a content sigh. She rolls onto her side and closes her eyes with the intent of falling back asleep, but she hears a familiar sniffle and it makes her smile. "_Kic'blu_, Yaya," she calls, pulling from a Vulcan command she learned off of Spock.

I-Chaya enters through the mouth flaps and circles her bed several times, nosing at the ground and at her comforters with animalistic concentration.

"Come on," Jim says, gesturing to the space beside her. "_Kic'blu_."

I-Chaya huffs and treks over, sniffing Jim's feet and hands and hair before she licks a hot stripe across Jim's forehead.

Jim winces and gently pushes I-Chaya's snout away. "Why do you always like to do that? Is my forehead that delicious?" she asks, not really expecting a reply.

I-Chaya sits back on her hind legs and cocks her head. She always does this whenever Jim speaks in English. It's because I-Chaya doesn't understand much outside of the Vulcan language.

_All the more reason to learn Vulcan_, she silently muses.

"I'm sleepy," Jim murmurs as she strokes one of I-Chaya's paws. Her fur is so soft and inviting, much like gentle fleece. "You wanna lay with me?"

I-Chaya cocks her head with incomprehension.

Jim pats at the area above her head.

I-Chaya understands that signal well enough. She's lain with Jim plenty of times before to know what that gesture means. She moves until she's at the head of the bed and she lies on her side.

Jim scoots up and curls against I-Chaya's warm belly with a content sigh, closing her eyes with every intention of falling asleep, which she does for the next three hours to the sound of I-Chaya's gutturally low purring.

She wakes up sometime later, a little after six, and forces herself to get up. She yawns and stretches, spending a few moments to murmur gentle praises to I-Chaya as she strokes a line down her back and tweaks her left ear how she likes.

Jim pats I-Chaya twice before she stands and shimmies into a pair of basketball shorts she stole from Bones. She puts on her flip-flops just as I-Chaya licks the back of her hand and leaves without anything further.

Jim's lips curl into an amused grin as she follows I-Chaya out into the hot sun and watches her huge bearcat companion cross over into the Vulcan camps, no doubt to locate Spock.

Jim goes the opposite way, walking towards the Southern Mountains, and stopping long enough to hail the Enterprise in order to be beamed aboard, which she is a few seconds later.

She gives the officer working the transporter console an acknowledging nod before she swaggers her way to her private quarters, where she plans on hopping in the sonic shower.

After she soaks under the massaging jet spray, and even has a little, _ahem_, fun with the showerhead (twice), she scrubs her body with the citrus orange body wash she always uses. It has some shampoo and conditioner that comes with it, and by the time she comes up out of the steam and fog, she smells so much like an orange that one would almost think she was one.

Jim wraps her wet body in a duck yellow fleece robe and quickly sets to work with blow-drying her (now) mid-waist length hair. She then slicks it into a mid pony tail with a thin hair tie. Then she wraps a silk neck scarf over her hairline to hopefully press and tame her wild baby hairs.

"Computer. Access PADD music library—authorization code 29440," Jim says as she pulls free one of her sink drawers and grabs her makeup pouches.

"_Checking—authorization verified. New instruction required,_" the computer chimes.

"Select indie playlist entitled '_Pretty Woman_'," Jim absentmindedly instructs as she dumps all her makeup on the wide beige countertop.

"_Searching—playlist entitled 'Pretty Woman' found. Now playing._"

Jim smiles as the beat of familiar indie music starts looping through the ceiling speakers of her quarters and the bathroom. This playlist is what she usually listens to when she's getting ready. It has a desirable effect on her mood, which completes the overall look she's going for.

Jim starts putting on a thin layer of powder foundation, followed by concealer here and there, then some dewy pink blush for a soft, romantic cheek color. She saves the best part for last, which are her eyes and her lips (always a personal favorite of hers to work on). She gives herself some smoky eye shadow and volumizing mascara that makes her cerulean blue eyes pop out strikingly. Then, lastly, she puts on a clear lip-gloss that makes her lips look enticingly wet to really bring things together.

Now that she's dry, she shimmies out of her robe, takes off her silk scarf, goes to the top drawer for some lingerie, and she chooses a tasteful nude-colored set. Grabbing her orange citrus body butter, she spreads the lotion over her skin from head to toe before she waltzes into her walk-in closet to look for an appropriate dress that will suit the night.

Her foot accidently knocks into a pearl white, sparkly glitter shoebox that rests inconspicuously on the back wall of her closet. She frowns curiously and hunches down to pop off the top and peer inside. Her cheeks instantly warm as she slams the top back on and she remembers that it was gag gift from Gaila for her 19th birthday.

_How could I have forgotten I had it though? I was sure I threw it out but, _Jim carefully thinks on it. _But I don't get gifts often and I wouldn't have thrown this one out, no matter how outrageous but—well, I should at least **use **it once before I really throw it out._

The color of her cheeks deepens as she pulls out the gummy textured dildo with bumpy grooves. She swallows as she turns it on (it lights up and sends shockwaves of vibrations up and down her arm) and glances at her wristwatch quickly. _Three minutes is all I need, _she quietly figures as she scuttles to her bed. She knows her body well enough that reaching climax on her own is a piece of cake.

Fifteen minuteslater, Jim crawls out of her plush bed with shaking thighs and a natural orgasmic flush spread across her body. She tries to blink away the glazed look in her eyes as she cleans and stores the amazingly complex and _accurately precise _sex toy back to its box for safekeeping and future use.

"Gaila, you absolute angel," Jim mutters tremblingly as she pats the glittery shoebox. "I don't know why I didn't use it sooner, or why I never thanked you for it." She pats the box fondly once more before she stands and stretches, even though her limbs feel like quivering jelly. She goes back to searching for some appropriate attire for the evening.

Jim comes across her one-shoulder, bandage dress that's compromised of dark blue sequins and stops right above her knees. When she slips it on, she's glad to see that it fits her small shape and gives the illusion of an hourglass form she surely does not have. She tucks her feet into some black leather pumps and puts on a gold bracelet with matching dangly earrings and a juicy couture garden party ring on her left index finger.

The music suddenly pauses, and the computer says, "_Communiqué request—origin: Riverside, Iowa._"

Jim frowns, and her mood instantly dips as she clicks her way over to her work desk and sits down in front of her desk monitor. She yanks open her top drawer on the right and pulls out some nail polish before she accepts the link.

A worn and pale looking Frank fills up the screen. There are grim age lines etched into his face, and his hair is thinning. Age is biting into him and it doesn't look flattering.

_Never thought it would anyway. Never really cared, _Jim thinks as she shakes her nail polish and looks at him with a blank and expectant look.

He says, "Hello, Jim."

"Frank," Jim greets him back with stiff formality. She untwists the top from her royal blue polish and begins to paint her newly blunted fingernails. "To what do I owe this little pleasure?"

Frank doesn't say anything at first. He looks belligerently crestfallen. It's almost as if he doesn't know who he is or who she is. He blinks slowly and focuses on her, then he explains, "I've been trying to reach you for months now, but it wasn't going through. I suppose that was purposeful. Didn't stop me from trying or praying that I'd find a way to you."

Jim keeps her face carefully blank and calm. It _had_ been purposeful. Frank's been on her shit list for years now. Of course she'd flag any notifications or means of communication from him as spam. What could he possibly want now? "I don't have any money for you if that's what you want," she says, rather crossly.

"I, uh—" Frank rubs at the back of his neck uncomfortably. He's wearing a burnt sienna colored button down shirt with a yellow tie. He looks chaotically put together. "I'm in this program and I have to follow a system. One of the steps is to ask for the forgiveness of the people I've hurt."

Jim maintains her silence. She adds another coat of paint to her nails.

"I know that nothing I could ever do or say will make up for all the wrongs I've done against you and to you, but, I would like to try," Frank says with unsettling sincerity. He fidgets and fumbles with his tie. His brown eyes are different—he doesn't seem—something's not the same. "I want to tell you that I am sorry. I'm so sorry for how I treated you and all the things I did. All the drunken fights and destruction—I'm sorry about it all. I pray to God every night that He delivers you from the pain or trauma I charged you with. There are things I wish I could take back and I know I can't but you have to know that I—"

"Who is she?" Jim suddenly asks. She can't take this. She can't play this game with him.

Frank just stares at her with a small measure of sadness and reserve. He fumbles with his tie again. It makes him look vulnerable and human.

Jim despises the gesture. This isn't who he really is. He must want something. He _has _to. "Who is she?" she demands. "Who's the bitch that fucked you sober—helped you find _God?_"

"Don't be cruel," Frank begs and Jim could almost laugh at that request. He clears his throat and tugs at the collar of his shirt. He's growing paler by the second. "I know you're mad at me—"

"You don't fucking know a thing," Jim calmly corrects.

"You're right," Frank quickly agrees. "But please, Jim—I'm really trying."

"_Trying what?_" she hisses impatiently as she angrily twists the top back onto the bottle of nail polish. "I don't get this act you're trying to pull. If you want some money just say so."

"It's not about money," Frank promises, desperately. His eyes are swollen with despair and it makes Jim sick. "I don't—that's not what I'm looking for."

"Fine," Jim says. She doesn't believe him.

"There's something I need to tell you. There's something you should know—something I should have said so long ago. There is—"

Her door chimes, cutting him off abruptly.

"I have to go," Jim says as she flicks her gaze over to her door. "I don't have time to play pretend with you. You should try this performance on someone else because you're not fooling me."

"It's not a performance!" Frank cries, and oh God, are those _real_ tears? "You're the closest thing I ever had to a daughter and I want—"

Jim slams her fist into the desk, causing it to shake and Frank to startle. "Don't you fucking dare," she warns coldly as she glares at him. "_Don't, you fucking, dare_."

Frank swallows quietly as his eyes go sad. Tears slid down his hollow cheeks as he robotically fumbles with his tie again. "I'm sorry. Jim, please. I'm so sorry. Give me a chance to—"

"Goodbye, Frank," Jim monotonously utters and kills the connection. Her fingers tremble and curl tightly towards her palm before she exhales. She shakes her head and stands to her feet as her door chimes again. She blows at her wet fingernails and answers the door.

Chapel is waiting on the other side with an eager smile and a dark blue, floor length, strapless chiffon dress. Her hair is fixed up elegantly and she has small gold stud earrings on with a matching bracelet and necklace. Her smoky eye shadow is more of a deep blue that coincides with her lipstick and nail polish. "Well hello there, Captain Sexy. You look hot and—pissed," she observes as she eyes Jim. She crosses her arms and holds on to her elbows. "What happened? What's the matter? Who should I knife?"

"It's—nothing. I don't want to talk about it. Come do a shot with me so I can shake it off," Jim requests as she turns into her quarters and walks to her minibar.

Chapel gracefully follows without so much as a question and she joyfully clinks her shot glass with Jim's when the time comes. She throws it back like a champ and even suggests that they do one more just to be safe. Her gaze drops to Jim's hips. She smirks and says, "You little minx. Turn around."

Jim frowns but she turns until her back is facing Chapel.

"Oh wow," Chapel laughs. "Your ass is tense. You've been touching yourself haven't you?"

Jim chokes and whips around. "How the fuck could you—"

Chapel makes a _tsking_ gesture with her finger. "I'm a nurse, Goldie. _Head _nurse. Plus I know a few things since I double majored in universal medicine and sexology back at the academy, which makes me especially informed about the female anatomy of all species. After my five year on this ship I'll be properly certified to open up my own clinic to practice as a OB/GYN."

A nice rosy blush blooms across the bridge of Jim's nose. That only happens when she's really embarrassed and intrigued by something.

"Don't be ashamed, Jim. It's all perfectly healthy," Chapel assures sincerely, which does not help Jim's flush.

"I found an old, um, toy in my closet and I got kind of carried away," she admits.

"Show me," Chapel eagerly demands.

Jim pulls her into the walk-in closet and unmasks the glittery shoebox.

Chapel's eyes gleam as her smirk widens. "Well, well. _Someone _certainly loves you. This is a Rabbit Puncher. It learns your, _ahem_, vaginal walls and targets the most sensitive pleasure areas. Orion-made and still the best of the best out there even though it was made four years ago. I have three of them myself, different colors for different days."

Jim tries to act surprise, she really does. She just ends up shrugging and putting the box away. Her flush has finally died. "Any alcohol I have tonight will go straight to my head now, I'm sure," she states with a slim knowingness. "I'm always a lightweight after I've squeezed a good few too many orgasms from my body."

"I'll look out for you if you do," Chapel promises. She drags Jim out of the closet and back to the minibar for one last round. "These science dinners can be quite boring, I hear," she announces ineptly. "Lucky I have you to keep me entertained and explain all the smart topics that are bound to fly over my head."

"Oh shove off, Christine. You're sharp as a razor," Jim argues as she loops her arm with hers and guides her out the door.

Chapel leads the way as she throws Jim a flattered grin. "So glad you think so high of me, but I have to tell you, Goldie, that if it's not anything pertaining to the medical field, I'll have a hard time keeping up," she reports.

They arrive to the dinner right at the time that they should. It's being held in the third observation lounge, one of the second largest lounges on ship, and the room is a mix of exotic flowers, candlelight and a hefty plot of rounded tables covered in white cloth, porcelain plates, silverware, and wineglasses. The bodies in the room number in the fifties, and they're all dressed in suits and cocktail dresses as they mingle under chandelier lights.

Plates of food are being set in front of everyone by some of the kitchen servers.

"Fancy," Jim murmurs to Chapel, who snickers and navigates her to a table located at the front of the lounge. Its inhabitants are comprised of Dr. Cruise, Spock and other officers that Jim doesn't recognize.

Upon their arrival, all the men stand politely.

This gives Jim a chance to see what Spock is wearing.

Spock is dressed in dark Vulcan formal wear with colors of chestnut brown and black (it comprises of silk trousers and a silk high collar jacket that closed to the right with a dark, wedge-shaped accent, running from the left shoulder across the chest, and at his waist was a belt with an elaborate buckle). He looks really nice in them.

Dr. Cruise, who is wearing a suit with burgundy colors and a bowtie, is in the middle of a heated debate with a junior officer across from him.

Jim and Chapel take the empty seats beside Dr. Cruise, which are across from Spock and a female officer wearing a devil red cocktail dress that was so tight it fit her form like a second skin. She had a pixie cut hairstyle and pristinely gorgeous super model facial features that made her look as snobbish and pretentious as she seemed.

_This girl comes from money,_ Jim silently muses as she takes a hefty sip of the white wine in her glass as all the men seat themselves once more. Her mind glazes slightly. _Something tells me we're not going to get along. She was born with a silver spoon and I've had to use my hands._

Spock flicks his dark gaze over to her and he spends a moment observing her attire with an indecipherable expression. His scrutiny lasts longer than it normally would and Jim can almost read what he's thinking by the way his eyebrow twitches, but it's a near thing. He returns his gaze to the female officer beside him before she can really figure anything out.

_But what am I trying to figure out? _Jim wonders as she clears her wineglass and gestures to a server for a refill. _It's the alcohol that's twisting my thoughts. I won't take them too seriously—it's nothing._

Spock glances at her once or twice more before he deftly centers his gaze on the female officer beside him, who appears to be monopolizing his attention with superficial conversation and a sharp smile.

"I saw that," Chapel whispers lowly as she switches their plates at Jim's request. She takes the beef entrée while Jim gets the fish.

"Saw what?"

"Don't play with me. You know what." Chapel takes a moment to gesture to her own eyes with a pointed look.

Jim cheeks warm as she takes another quick sip of her favorite brand of wine. She glares sharply at the curvy nurse when Chapel gives her a soft kick under the table. "You promised to be on good behavior," she hisses.

Chapel gives a careless shrug as she picks up her half-full wineglass and takes a sip of the red wine inside. She sets it down just as gracefully before she places a napkin on her lap and starts cutting into her dinner.

Jim follows her lead and pretends that she isn't glancing at Spock every so often or that he isn't doing the same.

"Captain Kirk!" Dr. Cruise exclaims jovially with that endearingly thick Italian accent.

Jim jumps as though she has been caught and she coughs quickly to cover it.

Chapel snickers quietly beside her.

"I had no idea you would be joining us," Dr. Cruise explains with frank seriousness. He spread his palms out and says, "Though I assure you that had this arrangement been of my doing, I would have made it my every intention of inviting you. But as things are, I had invited Christine in hopes that you would join as well, but only in hopes. I couldn't really be sure."

"It's fine. I'm happy to be here. Congratulations to you and yours for the horticultural and agricultural project completion," Jim commends with a friendly smile.

"Ah yes, but I owe half of that praise to Commander Spock. He assisted me greatly," Dr. Cruise praises.

Jim flicks her gaze over to Spock, who straightens his shoulders with Dr. Cruise's commendation and meets her eyes with something unobtrusive and equivocal. She thinks about saying something, but she can't because she feels oddly nervous for some reason. She ends up fumbling with her wineglass for a second, jerking it into a toasting gesture (that everyone awkwardly echoes) before taking precise sips that maker her feel warmer and unsteady than she already is.

Spock watches her closely as he takes graceful sips from his glass, and that just doesn't help matters.

_What is going on with us?_ Jim wonders as she meets his gaze audaciously. _This is—new. Strange._

Dr. Cruise gently claps his hand over Jim's shoulder and says, "I'm sure you're familiar with Science Officer Hoyt and Science Officer Dell."

"Not as much as I would like to be," Jim replies easily enough and gives the junior officers a gentle smile.

They nod in return with a timid smile and wide curious looks.

"And this is our lovely student worker, Cadet Leila Kalomi—who is also responsible for tonight's arrangements," Dr. Cruise introduces, gesturing to the pristine female with catty features beside Spock.

Leila smiles sharply. "I've heard a many great tales about you, Captain Kirk. I have to say that I'm thrilled to finally meet the woman associated to the name," she airily states, the friendliness of her tone not reaching her coldly calculating blue eyes.

Jim carefully thinks on her response before she says, "All good things I hope?"

"More than," Leila vaguely assures and studies Jim's profile with ambiguous contempt. "You're giving the rest of us females an ideal to strive towards. Be proud of that."

"Should I?" Jim carefully questions.

"Oh certainly. After all, it is so hard to find such a proper female role model," Leila commends with blank sincerity.

It's like playing verbal chess, Jim decides. She says, "I'm sorry to say that I haven't heard enough about you. How long have you been with us?"

"Six months," Leila explains as she crosses her legs and cuts into a piece of steak delicately. Her body language is all wrong. "It's been quite an experience too."

Jim feels as though Leila is talking _through_ her and not _to _her. "Space travel often is," she faintly replies.

"Oh, yes. I've learned all sorts of useful things," Leila merely responds as she lifts her ocean blue eyes with a cunningly enigmatic smile that Jim isn't fond of. "Though I'm sure there's more I can learn, given the right time." She flicks her gaze to Spock, who is cutting into his vegetarian platter. "And with the right person."

Jim's not sure what they're talking about anymore. She only knows that she doesn't like the way Leila is looking at her and Spock.

"But enough about me," Leila abruptly announces, changing forms suddenly and taking on the spirit of a hosting housewife. It was rather frightening how good she was at it. "We were talking religion before Christine and Ms. Kirk joined our repertoire."

_You're using that word wrong_, Jim thinks at her as she stabs at a green bean and a piece of fish before she lifts it to her mouth.

"I believe we left off with Dr. Cruise, who seems to think that the existence of plants is enough living proof that there is a higher power," Leila politely reminds, stating it in a way that made it seem as though she were a referee in a boxing ring chiming the bell to begin the match anew.

"But is it not proof enough?" Dr. Cruise exclaims, punctuating his words with the tip of his fork (he seldom did things in subtle gestures it seems). "How marvelous are the designs of nature! It does not exist on its own. Why, a great mind thought upon them to make them so."

"But for what reason?" Officer Dell questions in complaint. He's cutting into a glazed piece of chicken. "Just to be as it is? How much thought is there in that? That's like me being responsible for the finest four course meal known to man and then throwing it all in the sea, uneaten. What was the point of it all?"

"Beauty. That's enough thought to make sense of. All of it is quite marvelous," Officer Hoyt offers by way of explanation with a sharp English accent that Jim finds pleasant enough. "Beauty is a pleasure in many ways."

Leila looks to Spock, who wordlessly declines from making a comment, and she frowns, thwarted.

Jim carefully watches Leila's expression as she observes Spock with a higher form of computation that is both unnerving and suspect. _What do you want with him, _she silently wonders as she chews.

"Beauty is relative," Chapel points out, stirred to the debate as if she couldn't help herself. "Nature has its reasoning behind it. It certainly fits in the grand scheme alone. I just don't think you can consider nature without considering the rest. But do I believe in God? Yes. I do. I just can't explain the reasoning behind my faith."

"All that we see now is the work of a higher mind," Dr. Cruise adds between chews. "Look at your hands, look at the stars. Look at anything and tell me that that isn't the work of greater."

"Perhaps so, but why does the existence of one thing qualify as the work of a deity? Am I, as a creator of a new piece of machinery or some kind of concoction or the discovery of something new, worthy of elevation and piety?" Officer Dell intones with impatience not aimed towards either of them. He seems tired of the conversation already.

"You put it in such terms and of course that leaves space for doubt," Officer Hoyt retorts after he sips his wine. "Religion is as much about faith in the unseen and the unknown."

"This is also true," Leila lightly agrees as she submits an opinion. "But the grand question here is the existence of a entity." She gracefully chews before she dabs at the corner of her lips with her napkin. "We are told that we are made in God's image, but as we can see, that image is comprised of male and female, of Orion and Vulcan, of love and hate. Is God, too, these things? What delights Him, I wonder, if such a being does exist? To what purpose does he create all manner of life without ever giving evidence of himself fully, and yet asks for our love? Or is it, perhaps, that the gods we look for sit right before us now. What if we are the very gods that we chase after?"

The table falls completely silent, and a wave of background conversation washes over them, followed by the clinking of forks and knives.

Leila's sharp gaze rests on Jim for an unnerving two minutes. She says, "Well what say you, Ms. Kirk? Where do you stand in this debate?"

All eyes suddenly tack onto Jim.

"I'm the type to toe the line," she simply clarifies.

"Oh you'll need to give us more than that," Leila says with a firm stare. "Are you a woman of faith or doubt?"

"I toe the line," Jim patiently repeats. "I believe in choice. Choice to believe and choice not to believe."

"What do you believe in?" Leila presses.

"I'm not sure until I come to it," Jim says.

"Right now, we're at religion. Do you believe in that?"

"I can't completely dismiss the idea of religion, but at the same time I'm not entirely convinced," Jim admits as she meets everyone's gaze. "I'm open to the concept of God and therein any definable classifications, but I don't understand all the basic facts anymore than I ever have. That's where I fall short. I mean, sure I fly through time and space and meet beings of all shapes and forms and race—but is it enough to convince me completely? Not entirely. But I believe that faith has its role and that there are things we can't explain. After all, rivers, ponds, lakes and streams—they all have different names, but they all contain water. Just as religions do—they all contain certain truths."

"Well put," Dr. Cruise praises and lifts his wineglass to her and there is a murmur of agreement. "I do believe she has mediated the argument. Let's talk on more pleasant things."

Leila doesn't seem particularly thrilled with this turn of events. "I suppose we should finish our meal before we challenge ourselves with thicker conversation," she advises.

A quiet comes with the meal and the dessert, and when all is finished and the plates are taken away, and glasses are filled anew, Leila decides that the whole room should participate in a game of jeopardy.

She comes off as bit of a control freak to Jim.

"The trick here, dear friends," Leila sweetly explains as she stands where all occupants of the lounge can see her in her skintight devil red dress. "Is that we will only be investigating science and botanical related topics. The bonus question, which should decide which table is the winner, will be of a different subject entirely. But you won't worry about that until the time comes. Now—" She takes a moment to clap her hands together with a scheming grin that's all teeth. "Let's begin."

Jim shares a look with Chapel.

Chapel scrunches her nose apologetically and drinks down her glass of wine.

Jim forgoes participating in the game in favor of watching. Though she doesn't pay much attention—she's too busying wondering why Spock hasn't uttered a word all evening.

Spock excuses himself during the very heat of the game, when it slims down to just two tables, and Jim watches his quiet departure with a coat of inquisitiveness.

Chapel pats a hand over hers. "I'm going to stick around for a bit," she decides and she smiles. "Dr. Cruise will keep me company. You go ahead. I know you want to. I won't mind."

Jim's mouth fidgets indecisively before she nods. She kisses Chapel on both cheeks before she wanders after Spock. She has to turn down a few corridors before she finds him standing at the doors of a turbolift, pale hands clutched behind him, waiting.

She steps into the space beside him and eyes the closed doors of the turbolift with slight interest. There's a dull throb in her veins—it's the white wine—it's singing in her pores, making her feel alive, and she's floating.

"White wine's my vice," Jim remarks as she jovially eyes the architecture of her ship. _Her_ ship. So indescribable a feeling she has with this fact that's its all hers. "But it's so good. Like the nectar of gods, you know—if we knew which gods were what and, you know." She makes a noncommittal gesture.

Spock says nothing, but his eyes skim her more times than generally necessary for anyone.

"You know," Jim finally says, despite the gathering warmth pooling into her body and her cheeks from his attention. "It usually helps when you press the call button."

"I am unsure of where it is I intend to go," Spock simply explains as he stares at the aforementioned call button with a frown.

"What's wrong then? I haven't heard a peep from you all night. I mean, I know you can be quiet in your own way, but you aren't like that without a strong reason," she watchfully queries, trying to gauge a reaction. Her tongue feels light as a feather, and she knows she'll be a bit blabby tonight because of all the wine she's had. "You're so calm and unassuming. I can tell you're thinking many things, but most of those things you never say. But sometimes there are a bit of those things inside you that come out in different ways. Like in your shoulders or in your hands. I think your eyes are the most telling."

Spock's shoulders tense and his lips wane into a grim line as his brow furrows deeper. His hands tighten in the clutch of his grasp and his dark eyes chases an invisible object between the spaces of his feet. After what seems like minutes, he lifts his head and prods the call button with a pale finger.

Jim has no choice but to step into the lift with him as he presses the button for the intended level. She doesn't urge him to speak. She's fully aware that he will say something when he feels inclined to. She can be patient. Maybe what he needs is company.

The lift comes to a stop on deck 14.

Spock steps into the corridor and he takes great strides to the end where he turns into an open doorway of a vacated observation lounge.

Jim places her small hands on the curves of her hips and clicks her way off the lift. She smiles to herself as she does a little spin, and pretends for a quick moment as she strides down the corridor that it's an actual runway. The effect of the wine flows from her ankles and slides back up to her head as slow as syrup and oh it feels so good, she feels so good.

Yeah—she might have had more than she should have.

The lounge is intimately small and quiet (a mere dorsal). It provides companionable space with an oval-shaped area of seats that all face forward to the large view screen that offers a beautiful display of New Vulcan and the constellations resting above and around it.

Jim finds Spock standing at the screen and she joins him. The urge to touch her hand to the glass is an impulse that she doesn't ignore and she blinks slowly as her fingers smudge imprints into the glass. She lifts her eyes to the far clouds made of stardust and illuminating translucent colors that glean as a fitting background for New Vulcan.

"_Things are as they are. Looking out into it the universe at night, we make no comparisons between right and wrong stars, nor between well and badly arranged constellations_," Jim quotes softly as she keeps her eyes to the stars.

The Enterprise clicks and whirrs and hums.

"Before tonight's event, my father informed me of his plans to reestablish his bond with his former wife," Spock announces unexpectedly with a stressed tone that sounds both somnolent and vacant. "This news has unsettled me, and it is the reason for my lack of participation in this evening's exchanges."

Jim blinks at New Vulcan with silent astonishment before her mind kicks forward as her hand slides down the glass. "He's going to remarry his first wife?" she clarifies, more to herself than to him.

"Affirmative," Spock confirms. He relaxes his hands at his sides and they twitch with his upset.

"_Sarek…_" Jim drawls with a longsuffering sigh before she removes her hand from the glass and presses it to her stomach.

"Indeed," Spock quietly concurs. "I find it highly inadvisable, but I doubt my father would appreciate this opinion. There is nothing I can do."

Jim understands why he would be distraught. It couldn't have been more than eight months since his mother passed away. That kind of wound—even scars have their aches.

_Though it wouldn't really be such an uncommon thing for someone such as Sarek, who was happily married for a number of years, to begin considering the prospect of marriage once more_, she silently muses. _But I just don't know how it works in their culture. I don't know what this will really mean._

"Do you think he could be—lonely?" Jim carefully asks, internally wincing at her words but having no other form to place them.

Spock stares at some unknown constellation for a long moment that almost stretches into forever before he responds, "As I am, as we all are, he is convoluted. I would not know his desires unless we joined minds. Even still, I find this impending arrangement unsuitable and disrespectful of my mother's memory."

"I'm sure Sybok is just loving this," Jim mutters as she blows out a breathe of air with quaking frustration that makes her fidget.

"Undeniably," Spock agrees tightly.

Jim flushes. She'd forgotten how sensitive Vulcan hearing was, she hadn't meant for him to hear that. "I'm sorry," she says and fidgets again as she looks to him. Her blue eyes trace the stony curves of his expression before they slid across the tenseness of his strong jaw. She looks away and blows out another breath. "I think you might have to concede the point on this one. Your father loved your mother very much, but—no one enjoys being alone when they discover how wonderful the universe can be when you spend your time in it with a person who fits you so well."

Spock doesn't seem to care much for this comment because his mouth slouches into an unhappy frown.

Jim boldly grazes her fingers against his elbow and says, "You _S'chn T'gai_ are tough Vulcans. Is that—that's right isn't it? I said that right?"

"Jim—"

"Shut up. I'm still making an argument here," Jim says, waving him off. She's still a bit float-y from the wine. "You may not agree with how things are going, but I've known your dad to be very supportive of you, despite some differences. I don't know much about family, I've never had one. I'm lucky to call yours mine now, but I think what that means is that we've got to support each other no matter what kind of choices and decisions we make. That's it, that's all."

Spock reluctantly replies, "I recognize the validity of your point. I am still unsettled, however."

"Sometimes anger can't be banished until the heart and mind have settled their affairs between them," Jim calmly reasons as she turns and plops down in a cushioned chair. She sighs and wiggles her hips as she strokes the armchairs. The chair feels cool and amazing. She's going to need one of these in her quarters. "Sometimes our heart can figure out something before our mind does and vice versa. We just have to go with the flow." She makes a wave-like motion with her right hand. She kicks off her black pumps and sighs in relief. Her toes are red and squished together.

Spock remains at the view screen, soundless in the thoughts that drift tangibly around him.

Jim exhales and crosses her ankles as she wiggles her toes and threads her fingers behind her head. She doesn't like that Spock is upset. It doesn't fit him. She says, "I'm thinking of a number between one and ten—what is it?"

"I could not know," Spock rejoinders without turning to face her. He's bathed in dramatic shadows, which adds to the presence of his discontent.

"Pretend my brain is your brain. What am I thinking?"

"Your shields are still efficiently in place. I could not know."

"It's called guessing, and I wasn't asking you to read my mind," Jim explains exasperatedly as she watches his unnaturally still profile. She takes a moment to fiddle with her ponytail. "So—what number am I thinking?"

"I see no definable purpose to this inquiry."

Jim rolls her eyes. He's being such a sour patch. "That's because I'm attempting to lift your mood by getting you to focus on something else. So stop being a brat and guess. What number am I thinking?"

Spock says nothing, and it isn't clear whether or not it's because he refuses to play into Jim's childishness or because he's seriously contemplating.

Jim starts to take off her jewelry and she sets it on the small beige coffee table beside her.

Spock voices a number she can't hear.

"What was that?"

"Seven."

Jim smiles triumphantly and says, "I cheated. I was actually thinking of the color cordovan."

This answer makes Spock turn and approach her in quick, short steps until he's standing right before her. His coffee brown eyes trace the wild hairs along her hairline before they drop down to the blossom of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Jim leans back into the coolness of her seat as the warmth she feels in her gut spreads through her limbs like heated oil. She feels thirsty and her fingers curl around the arms of her chair like a worm would around a pencil.

"What?" she asks with a timid frown when he continues to trace the curves of her face.

"You are deliberately taxing," he decides, but he looks slightly less upset than he did before.

"Correction: I am a gift to mankind and alienkind," Jim jokingly claims with a playful smile.

Spock's lips twitch as he murmurs, "Debatable."

"I'm pretending I didn't hear that," Jim sings before she laughs and knocks her foot into his knee. She coils her fingers into the sleeve of his jacket and tugs. "Sit. You don't have to loom over me like that."

Spock sits beside her, and they angle their bodies to face each other fully.

The night brings on a calm that matches the low lighting of the room and here with her First Officer and friend, Jim feels content with it.

In the silence, there are intangible words by their creation, drifting to and fro in the unseen spaces of the lounge, through them and around.

"Do you think I'm prissy?"

"I find this query peculiar, but no, Jim, I do not."

"You're not just saying that to be nice are you?"

"I have been informed that I possess the tendency to be unreasonably frank, and in saying such, I doubt that I am being less than forthcoming."

"Hm." A beat of silence. "Who was that dreadful girl you were sitting by?"

Spock lifts a brow in question. "I am assuming that you refer to Cadet Kalomi."

"Yeah, the straitlaced blonde with the pixie cut who is up to something," Jim adds and ignores the amused frown Spock gives. She takes a moment to drum her fingers thoughtfully against her bottom lip. "You don't understand conniving women like how I do. I feel like something's off about her. You have to tell me what you know."

"She is the topmost cadet in all her courses, and she has received a number of commendations from the Starfleet board for her extracurricular involvement. She is the daughter of Kathryn Kalomi, who is renowned for her fieldwork with humanitarian agencies and for her position as the president of the Universal Mercy Corps. Kathryn Kalomi is also the wife of Alexander Marcus."

"Marcus? Like _Fleet Admiral_ Marcus?"

"The very same," Spock confirms.

"Wow," Jim marvels as her mind cranks like a well-oiled machine. "Is she, I mean, is she his? I thought Admiral Marcus only had two children."

"I am unsure of the facts," Spock reports. "However, I am told by Cadet Kalomi that both her parents are the reasoning behind her enlistment with Starfleet. In saying such, she double majors in botany and science, therefore she is required to spend the minimum of seven hundred hours in the field for both. By the end of December, she will have completed four thousand and ninety eight hours under Dr. Cruise's stead in the focus of botany, and next year she will complete the other seven hundred under me."

Jim makes an unhappy face. "Why?"

"Because I am the head of science."

"Can't you pass her off on some—wait. Say that again."

"I am the head of science."

"No the thing before that."

"Cadet Kalomi will complete her final seven hundred hours of apprenticed service under my stead next year."

Jim stares at him. She's practically vibrating out of her skin. "You're—staying?"

"I declined the offer, if that is what you mean to imply."

"But why?"

"If you are unsatisfied with my decision—"

Jim swats at his shoulder. "Don't do that subtle Vulcan sarcasm with me, Spock. You turned it down and you didn't say anything sooner! Why didn't you say sooner?"

"Because the decision was made recently and I intended to inform you at your earliest convenience tomorrow morning," Spock clarifies simply.

"Oh," Jim says. She fidgets and studies him. "What made you want to stay? Was it—is it because of our talk?"

"I merely reasoned that my skills would be better suited to the needs of the Enterprise," Spock vaguely rationalizes as he traces his dark eyes over her face with an expression of unfathomable contemplation.

Jim feels her cheeks heat. "Stop looking at me like that," she mutters.

"I was unaware that I was looking at you in an abnormal fashion."

Jim gives him a withering glare that does nothing to dampen the redness in her cheeks. "You _know _what I mean. You've been giving me that look all night. What gives?"

"Nothing 'gives', Jim. It has not escaped my notice that you have looked at me equally," Spock coolly reports.

"Have I?"

"You have."

"You only noticed because you were looking at me first."

Spock does not sigh.

Jim grins. "So we've been looking at each other," she supposes.

"So it would seem."

"Why?"

"I am unsure."

"Well, you do look nice, and I don't get to see you in anything but your science uniform," Jim admits and internally congratulates herself for not blushing this time. Must be the wine. "That might be—one reason, maybe."

"Perhaps," Spock says, and he seems slightly bemused by the compliment.

"Now you're supposed to tell me that I'm pretty," Jim lightly jokes as her gut fills with butterflies.

"You are conscious of your superlative charms. You do not need me to remind you of them," Spock murmurs lowly.

Jim huffs, flattered by the underlying compliment in his words, but still unsatisfied. "And to think that I put on all this blue for you and you wont even tell me I'm pretty," she scoffs with mock indignation.

Spock slowly scrutinizes her appearance. "Nyota has informed you of my preference for blue," he flatly states.

Jim blinks. "You guessed that," she accuses in surprise.

"You are not saying that I am incorrect."

"No, but you're not saying that you don't like me in blue. Nyota says you like the color of my eyes too."

"I do not enjoy being discussed."

"Suck it up. Everyone talks about everybody. Can't be helped. You're just mad that I found out one of your weaknesses."

"My preference for blue cannot be measured as a flaw."

"Why would I pin that as a flaw? My _eyes _are blue. That would be a bit hypocritical don't you think?"

"Indeed."

"And I said _weakness_. Having a favorite color is sort of a weakness."

"Illogical."

"No it's not. So just admit I look striking in your weakness. Don't I look grand? And how swell is it that I decided to try this grandness on your behalf?"

Spock eyes darken in thought. "You are being dishonest. It stands to reason that you and Nurse Chapel wore equating colors to compliment one another. I suspect this is something that was planned beforehand," he cleverly surmises.

"Maybe I agreed because I knew you'd be at the dinner and I wanted to give you something nice to look at," Jim impishly quips.

Spock's gaze turns deep and probing. "You are flirting," he reasons.

A wild blush spreads across the bridge of Jim's nose and down her neck. The palms of her hands feel hot and sweaty. Oh God—she _is._ "Don't mind me," she quickly mutters and fidgets. She looks away and wipes her wet palms against her bare thighs. She feels really warm. She looks back. "Did I, um—am I making you uncomfortable?"

Spock says nothing. It's clear he's thinking about something.

"Spock, how would you know what flirting is anyway?" Jim questions as she fidgets again.

Spock turns his gaze to the view screen. "I am familiar with its alternating definitions."

"Knowing isn't the same as, you know, _knowing_," Jim stresses as she watches him closely. "Vulcans don't flirt—do they?"

"What we do has no definable term," Spock securely comments.

"Maybe," Jim drawls as she cocks her head. "So you can tell when someone is flirting with you? How many people flirt with you?"

"That is of no importance," Spock firmly resolves.

"Fine," Jim says with a shrug and folds her arms across her chest.

Spock is quiet for a long moment as he looks at her before he states, "If you truly require an estimation, I would only say that it is average and lower than the fluctuations of propositions that you appear to receive on a daily basis."

"Well don't twist this thing around on me. You and I are equally attractive people and we can't help the kind of attention it draws. Even if it's crummy attention from people like Mitchell." Jim looks away and mutters, "Or Cadet Kalomi."

"Cadet Kalomi's intentions are not ignominious," Spock refutes with sharp misunderstanding.

"Not that we've seen," Jim points out. "But I'm not saying that she's pure evil or that if you want to date her—"

"That would be inappropriate," Spock interjects with a disapproving frown.

Jim just looks at him and carefully says, "You did date Uhura while she was still your TA."

Spock's green flush is immediate and paints a path across his cheeks and on the tips of his ears.

Jim tugs at his jacket sleeve before she releases it completely. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to be petty. I was only saying that I wasn't discouraging you from dating anyone. The whole point is that I don't like Cadet Kalomi's attitude but I also couldn't help but to notice that she seems to be besotted with you."

"Though that may be, I do not intend on returning those affections." Spock's brow furrows as he studies Jim's bare shoulders. "Cordovan—it is a shade of brown."

Jim is a bit stumped by the turn of conversation. "Um, yeah."

"Would I be correct in assuming that this color is one you prefer above all others?" Spock questions carefully as he lifts his gaze and meets her eyes.

Jim looks down at his hands, which are resting curled over his knees, then she looks up and says, "Yes. It is."

"I see," he simply remarks. "I am familiar with forty-eight different shades as I incorporate the colors in my own wardrobe. But none of which can be found in yours, yet you specified this particular shade earlier. Therefore, I gathered that it is a personal favorite."

"Easy there, Sherlock," Jim marvels. She takes a moment to just breathe and watch the vacant planes of his face as her thoughts tilt on a vibrating axis. "I might start to think that you pay attention to me."

"You possess incongruous traits," Spock loosely acknowledges. "In the pique of their occurrence, I am prone to notice them from time to time."

Jim's mouth wiggles, and she suddenly feels shy.

"For example," he continues. "Are you aware that you wear your hair in four hundred and sixty three variations?" His dark eyes examine the curve of her left ear with inexpressible concentration.

"Uh, no," Jim says, thrown.

"I gain no advantage to holding this information as well," Spock explains with a furrowed brow. "Yet, I am the owner to these unserviceable details. It never fails to confound me."

Jim's chest feels really tight and a swell of something she hasn't ever felt before begins to bloom between the teeth of her ribcage and squeezes her heart. She can't even feel her feet, she's so astonished and stupefied. "You pay attention to the way I wear my hair?" she asks faintly.

Spock looks adorably agitated and confused by the fact. "Affirmative."

"I—I don't believe you," Jim mumbles incredulously. Something hot and suffocating gnaws its way around her heart like a caterpillar chewing its way through an apple. "You're too logical for that. You couldn't possibly—"

Spock's dark eyes are blackened with his incomprehension. "The possibility matters little, Jim. These facts remain within my tenure."

"Well—well how was I wearing my hair when—we first met?" Jim dares, fingers tingling in anticipation and doubt.

Spock's frown deepens as he replies, quite contritely, "Do you refer to the time you first attended the Kobayashi Maru simulation or the litigation held in Admiral Pike's office? Both times you kept your hair interwoven with intricate braids that swept outwards to the left, and you kept the style in place with a bejeweled clip in the shape of a primate. Such decorations were not regulation, and I had thought to inform you of this, but ultimately, I did not."

Jim inhales abruptly and something like indefinable clarity stabs her in the gut and floods her system until her blue eyes are swimming in it. It fills her lungs and she can't breathe with it.

_Oh my God—I am such an idiot, _she thinks dazedly, on the verge of folding into hysterical laughter. _I'm going to throw up._

"Oh my God," she says out loud. Because—oh my _God_. The undeniable truth is right there and it's bewildering. She laughs disbelieving and slaps her hands over her reddening face as she shakes her head. She drops her hands and swallows, then pales. "Shit."

"Jim?" Spock's gaze turns searching, and he must see the panic on her face.

Jim stands suddenly and has to wait a moment because she feels dizzy and afraid. "I have to go lie down. I don't—I feel sick," she stammers quickly as she gathers her shoes and her jewelry. "Sorry. Too much wine I think. I—I'll see you later," she lies and stumbles as far as she can and as quickly as she can.

When she reaches her quarters, she grabs a pillow and screams into it as loud and as long as she can. She does this in hopes that she'll snap out of this and see that it was just all in her head, that it was just the wine talking, that it was just something fleeting and unsubstantial.

But hours pass and her throat is raw and the clarity doesn't go away because it feels so much apart of her now that wishing it away would be like wishing away a limb and oh _God_—this is—how can it just suddenly be _this_?

Jim goes to the bathroom and throws up because she doesn't understand.

How could she understand? She's never known clarity in this way. It's terrifying.

It feels like a wash of cold water pouring into her toes and rising up into the follicles of her hair, rolling inside like a storm, but at the same time staying stagnant like the calm that comes afterwards.

It's so complex—it's so fucked up.

It's wonderful.

It's horrible.

It's not a pretty night.

888

"You look like hell," is the first thing that Bones says to her when he meets her for breakfast the next morning.

Jim glowers at him as they sit down at an empty table with their trays in the Mess tent. She's aware she looks like pure shit (hair in an askew ponytail from her pulling and tugging, bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, and bottom lip swollen from her anxious nibbling). She hadn't even bothered throwing on anything other than a pair of faded shorts and an unkemptly wrinkled t-shirt.

Yeah, she's not in top form.

"What's eating you?" Bones asks as he begins to cut into his syrup soaked waffles.

Jim doesn't bother pretending she's going to eat. She can't really stomach much right now. "You won't like it, but you're the only one I figured I could talk to about this," she confesses hoarsely.

Bones chews slowly as his brow furrows with concern.

Jim, lowering her voice because she does not want people overhearing this, whispers, "I fucked up, Bones. I realized something wild."

Bones swallows and gestures for her to continue as he bites into a link of greasy sausage.

"I—it's about Spock and me," Jim continues to whisper. She looks at Bones with desperate eyes. She lets the truth sit on her face and in her eyes. He has to understand. "And I'm still reeling but I—God, don't make me say it."

Bones stops chewing. His hazel eyes avidly observe her face as his calloused fingers curl around his plastic utensils and his expression darkens into something thunderous. His lips tighten unhappily and he slams his utensils down before he storms off without a word.

"Bones!"

Bones just plows on until he's out of sight.

Jim watches him leave helplessly with a frustrated groan before she drops her forehead onto the surface of the table. Perhaps sharing the news with Bones hadn't been such a good idea.

In the next moment, all Jim knows is the precise _click, click, click_ of heels, and the sound of whistling. When she lifts her head, the sight of Cadet Leila Kalomi, who looks as polished and pristine as ever in her aquamarine pencil skirt, white ruffle blouse, and mustard colored heels, graces her.

"Captain Kirk. Good morning," Leila coos sweetly as she gracefully holds her hands up like some kind of gentle princess with an impeccable posture. "And it really is a good morning isn't it?"

Jim reigns in the urge to glare or say something scathing. "For some of us, I suppose," she quietly replies.

Leila just scrunches her nose cutely with a cheerful smile as if she doesn't plan on acknowledging the comment. She glances around with her sharp ocean blue eyes before she steadies them on Jim, studying her profile with indistinct arrogance. "You know, I was just _so _disappointed that you and I didn't get to exchange some goodbyes. After all, I felt like we…" She makes some sort of noncommittal gesture as she thinks. "Connected."

"Really?" Jim says flatly as she sits up fully.

"Oh definitely," Leila intones with overly portrayed urgency and sincerity. "Women like you and I, we just, have a knowing about each other. And what I know is that you and I will soon be _firm _friends, yes?"

Jim takes a moment to observe the straight top row of her white teeth before she drums up an artificial smile. "I'm sorry. I am blanking on your name." She points her finger as she pretends to think on it. "It's Cadet Jocelyn Weiner, right?"

Leila's porcelain smile withers, but she quickly recovers by lacing her hands in front of her with a closed mouth grin. "Leila Kalomi, Captain."

"That's what it was," Jim says snapping her fingers and feigning a look of apology. "Sorry. I am just so bad with names sometimes. Though you can imagine why since I'm responsible for over three thousand people at the moment. All those little names kinda tend to mix together up here." She taps at her temple as she gives a ditzy grin and shrug.

Leila's own grin goes a little tight. "Yes, I can understand that perfectly," she says. "But if you want, I have everyone's name memorized. I'd be more than happy to help you sort it all out. I do make it my prerogative." She gives a modest shrug as she laughs cattily. "Call me overzealous, but I just can't help but to go the distance. You have to know who your neighbors are. Something I learned from my mother."

"Oh I bet you learned a lot from her," Jim airily remarks as she rests her chin on her propped first.

Leila blinks shallowly before she straightens the line of her shoulders. "I hope you're not suffering from a hangover, though you did have _quite _a few glasses of wine. Not that I'm judging or anything."

"Of course."

"I know a little remedy for that if you're interested." Leila skims her profile as she touches her fingers to the slight swell of chin with an expression of consideration. "You do seem a bit—unhinged."

"Hm," Jim hums as she nods placatingly. "Your shoes are so gorgeous."

"Thank you," Leila says as she gives a small dip and preens. "They're actually one of a kind."

"Really? Are they Victor Camarilla's?"

"Yes. They're custom made."

"Recent?"

"It was his going away gift for me. He insisted, you know—long time friends with my mom."

"Interesting," Jim supposes with a thoughtful nod. "It's just a bit strange that he would design a pair of mustard colored pumps after he caught his wife, well ex-wife now, cheating on him with the pool boy, who I hear was in the middle of removing Mrs. Camarilla's mustard yellow lingerie with his teeth, and Mr. Camarilla has come to despise the color so much since it reminds him of his wife's, ex-wife's, infidelity that he refuses to put the color in his line. So I don't know, call me crazy, but I don't think the person who made those shoes was actually Victor Camarilla, which in this case means you're sporting knock-offs. Sorry."

Leila's expression turns livid.

"You might want to get your money back."

Leila's finely arched eyebrow twitches before she relaxes into a serene expression again. It's creepy. "Thank you for that little enlightenment," she says. She skims Jim's profile again. "I'm trying not to go by your appearance, but are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Commander Spock would argue that the word 'fine' has variable definitions," Leila casually remarks. "Speaking of which—the both of you left dinner pretty early." She twists her hands as her eyes gleam with something gauging.

Jim waits for a question or an extension to that comment, but there is none. She lifts her eyebrows and shrugs, keeping tightlipped.

"Just what are you two to each other, if you don't mind me asking," Leila probes. "And I only ask because Commander Spock's birthday is coming up in three days, and I really wanted to throw him a surprise party with only his _closest _friends in attendance. Does this sound like something you would be interested in?"

Jim just shrugs again.

Leila puts her hands on her hips as her nose twitches with her dissatisfaction. "Well. This has been extremely pleasant. We should get together some time. Just the two of us. For now I'd better be off. So much to do. Ta." She flashes another smile before she turns and clicks off like a runway model.

Jim makes a face at her back before she drops her forehead back down onto the table with an audible thump.

Eventually, when she's done mentally upturning tables, she drags her feet over to T'Pau's marquee.

T'Pau is sitting at her low level table with a fresh kettle of tea and a new basket of fruit. "James. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of your company?"

"I think I may be—that I may have some—_clarity_ for a person and it's freaking me out."

T'Pau is stilled to silence, and with a furrowed brow, she lifts her cup of tea to her mouth and drinks.

Jim takes this chance to plop down across from the elderly Vulcan. She grabs a green apple from the basket and takes a crunchy bite.

"This clarity—does it concern Spock?" T'Pau finally asks.

Jim chews and avoids her gaze as she folds her legs under her. "I think. Well. It's not so much a thought anymore, if it ever was. It's a feeling and it's crazy because it just—_was_ as much as it _is_." She shakes her head as she turns her half-bitten apple around in her hands. "I mean I thought clarity like this was supposed to be a gradual thing. Not something so sudden that it springs out of nowhere."

"Do you believe it comes from nowhere?"

Jim's mouth wiggles. She bites her thumbnail into the skin of her apple and swallows. "No," she admits. "But I'm scared, and I don't know what to do. It's too much, too soon."

"No one is forcing you to act on these—on this clarity, James," T'Pau reminds with palpable rebuke. "Your heart is your own. Let it decide for itself what it requires."

"I cant," Jim says softly. "That's not who I am. Nothing comes easy for me. I—I'm scared. I'm wandering through a maze without a map or a compass." She thumbs the wet bite of her apple. "I'm scared."

"Then build a courage within yourself," T'Pau instructs. "You are made of so much more than what is seen. You will understand what you must do when the time is right."

Jim says nothing. Her mind is a mess.

"I recommend you evade my grandson's company until you have come to the proper conclusion concerning this—_clarity_," T'Pau calmly advises. "You meditate in a way that is befitting to your nature, and then you decide." She holds Jim's gaze and continues, "But know this—you are fully capable of deciding your own destiny. The question you face is: which path will you choose? This is something only you can decide."

Jim swallows, even as she trembles on the inside. She lifts the apple to her mouth and mechanically bites into it.

"Do you believe that Spock has achieved this _clarity _as well?"

Jim chews and rubs the wet skin of the apple against her lips as she thinks about it. From her subconscious comes the wafting memory of last night, and her lips unconsciously lifts as she recalls the exact estimation Spock gave about her hairstyles. She forces the grin away as she replies, "He has it. But unlike me, he just doesn't realize."

"I find that, men, no matter the species, often will not, and it left up to us to make them privy to such things," T'Pau gracefully remarks, lips twitching in silent amusement.

Jim huffs out a short laugh and says, "Yeah. Maybe. Doesn't make it all any easier. Your grandson is—"

"A great deal fonder of you than you realize. I have no doubts of the lengths that he will go to for you," T'Pau urgently assures as she pours herself a second cup of tea. "You two are not called _t'hy'la_ for nothing."

Jim does not blush, but is a very near thing as she is reminded of this little (great) fact. She tries to relax, to breathe evenly.

T'Pau does not speak after this. She just goes on drinking her tea until she's gone through at least four consecutive cups.

The room is absolutely silent.

Jim finds the silence peaceful, and it calms her quaking spirit long enough to mediate the turmoil of emotional thoughts crashing against the mental shields in her mind like riotous waves to a bank of rocks.

In some moments later, Jim stands and touches her fingers to the inside of T'Pau's wrist with a kiss of gratitude, which is gracefully returned to her by a brief touch of fingers to the back of her hand. Jim smiles and T'Pau's eyes are very gentle, even as she dismisses Jim with a curt gesture.

Jim slides out and is surprised to see a darkening sky. She must have been sitting with T'Pau for hours, which wasn't exactly an unpleasant thing. She liked it, and she'll have to do it a few more times before they leave. It's just that, T'Pau reminds her of a grandmother she never got to have.

During her walk, she ends up at Chekov's tent. When she cautiously lets herself inside, she sees Sulu and Chekov cuddled up together on his bed, doing some sort of crossword puzzle together.

"Knock, knock," Jim says, announcing herself.

Sulu and Chekov both smile brightly at her.

"Keptin! How are you?" Chekov asks and sits up with eager attention.

"I'm—" Jim tries to think of the right words but she falls short. "Actually that's the thing. I, um, I need a favor."

Sulu glances at Chekov, who looks back, and they do that whole silent communication thing that couples usually do. He says, "Anything you need, we'd be happy to help. What's up?" He looks back to her.

Jim explains, in the vaguest way possible, how she needs some time alone to really sort some things out. She then goes on to clarify, "I just need a place to do the sorting without having to worry about someone coming to look for me for whatever reason."

"Ah, I see," Chekov quips with an adorably sympathetic frown. "If I may—you could be using my quarters for as long as needed. I do not believe anyone is thinking to look there."

"If you don't mind," Jim says with an agreeable nod. "Thanks."

"Is not a problem," Chekov hastily assures with a smile made of sunshine. He picks up his PADD. "I will forward my entrance code to you so that you will not be having to put in Captain's override."

"Huh, never thought of it like that. Someone could figure out where you are by that," Sulu supposes. "So how long are you going to be MIA?"

"No more than three days," Jim decides. "But if anyone asks, you guys did not see me. Commander Spock is officially in charge of everything, so pass that message on for me because I will not. Bye."

Sulu and Chekov give simultaneous farewells.

Five minutes later, Jim beams aboard the Enterprise, goes to her quarters for a few items and then hauls herself to Chekov's quarters, which is on four entirely different floors from hers.

The scheme of Chekov's personal quarters is based in comfort and space, with the help of color patterns based in autumn orange and off-white.

Jim plops down onto his bed and falls back to stare up at the ceiling. She puts one arm behind her head and the other hand on her stomach.

She takes a moment to breathe.

Then, she begins to meditate.

888

Nyota blows out a breath as she straightens the graceful line of her shoulders, then she steps out of Christine's walk-in closet and presents herself. She holds her arms out wide and gives her best friend an expectant look.

Christine makes a face that twists into an attempt to keep from appearing anything other than serious. "Well," she carefully says as she places her hand on the base of her neck in efforts to stall the laughter that wants to burst forth. "You certainly look like a gold-digger."

"I look like a slut."

"A promiscuous housewife is the way I would describe it, but fair enough."

Nyota sighs as she drops her hands and clutches the curves of her hips. She can hardly breathe in the skintight, cheetah patterned, strapless corset dress. Her luxurious dark hair is primped up into large voluminous curls. "I'm drowning in this make-up."

"It's necessary for the full effect of your character."

"I feel like my eyelids are going to fall off. These fake eyelashes are ridiculously long."

"Necessary."

"And don't even get me _started _on this hooker red lipstick."

"Necessary."

"I look like a prostitute."

"Look, when you came to me and asked for my help, you didn't fully explain what this all for. You just said that you wanted me to make you look like someone who comes off as a ditzy gold-digging sex kitten turned rich housewife. That's _exactly _what I did," Christine argues as she crosses her arms indignantly.

Nyota stares at her for a long moment before she says, "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm being an ungrateful brat. You did an exemplary job."

Christine sniffs, not swayed. "Keep going."

Nyota snorts. "And your skills are unsurpassed. You certainly missed your calling as a make-up artist."

Christine grudgingly smiles before she rises to her feet and throws her arms around her best friend. "Okay. You are forgiven." She steps back and eyes Nyota. "So tell me again why I can't know what this is for?"

"I just cant. Jim entrusted me with a bit of information, and I can't—"

"This is about the Tarsus thing isn't it? Don't look at me like that, you know how rumors are around here. It spreads like wildfire. But I won't ask anything about it until I feel like I can bring it up with Jim and have her tell me," Christine promises. "Speaking of Goldie—what's the deal? She's been missing for a good two days and no one seems to know where she is. Though I am a bit suspicious that Chekov and Sulu know because they don't seem as concerned as everyone else and I know they're not uncaring assholes. And poor Spock, he's just been running back and forth in Jim's stead. I mean, not that you can tell, but I think he misses her."

Nyota sends Christine a very impressed look. She usually is the only one that can distinguish Spock's barely perceptible mood patterns. She admits, "He did ask me once if I knew where she might have gone off to, well, not in those terms exactly, and when I said I didn't he looked a bit, you know—you understand where I'm going with this."

"I just wish they would just do something already. If I have to lock them in a room, I will," Christine playfully threatens and Nyota laughs. "God, you should have just seen them the other night. I'm telling you, Lovie. They were just eyeing each other up like a pair of hormonal teenagers. Then he leaves, and then she leaves. What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall so I can know what happened."

"Whatever it was, it's made Jim feel like she has to hide away somewhere. Don't get me wrong, I'm not making any assumptions, but, I feel like that could be the reason she's not around." Nyota gives a graceful shrug and takes a deep breath that causes the corset to pinch into her sides. She fidgets against it.

"You think she'll show up for Spock's surprise party?"

Nyota gives a one-shouldered shrug.

"Yeah. Fair enough. We're just going to have to see how things will play out."

Nyota snorts and dryly says, "We might be shifting into retirement by the time that happens."

"Oh shush," Christine rebukes as she lightly smacks Nyota's left hip. "You don't really believe that. But anyway, back to you. You and Monty going to the party together?"

Nyota can't help but to smile, and that's enough of an answer.

"You know, I'll just cry if you and he don't make some gorgeous little kiddies," Christine says with mock sincerity and an awfully dramatized pout.

"Oh please, pull the other one. You're just saying that because you want to be my gyno," Nyota retorts, knowingly.

Christine grins innocently with a shrug.

Nyota looks at her wristwatch with a frown. "I have to go. I've got an appointment that I cannot miss." She walks to Christine's door. "Dinner later?"

"You know it. Bring Monty with you."

Nyota exits with a preoccupied wave that somewhat confirms that she will.

Five minutes later, she's holed up in her private quarters behind her work desk. She takes a moment to gather her wits and do a few breathing exercises she learned from all the drama classes she took throughout high school. When she feels like she's as ready as she'll ever be, she sends a direct comm link to Earth.

Ms. Fiona Ray appears on the screen of her desk monitor with a smile and an inflated beehive hairstyle. She's filing her glittery teal blue nails, which matches the zip peplum dress she's wearing. "Oh hey, suga'. I was just thinkin' bout you. I'm so glad you called when you did. Dr. Karidian just got back and I'm gone tell him you waitin' to speak to him. Sound good?"

"Perfect. Thank you," Nyota replies with a fake British accent and a winning smile that's both smug and bubbly.

Ms. Fiona Ray sashays out of sight. Three minutes later, she reappears. "Okay, sug, you got his attention. I'm gone transfer you over to his line. Good luck." She gives a friendly wink and the screen blanks.

Nyota clears her throat and straightens her shoulders, pushing out her chest and twirling a finger around one of her dark curls.

Dr. Anton Karidian comes into view. He's quite a large and pudgy man with thick black-framed glasses, greasy white hair parted down the middle and a bulbous double chin that jiggles slightly with each strained inhale/exhale. He's already sweating and flushed as though he's run a marathon, which to be honest, couldn't be the case. He's got on a button down cotton shirt with an unappealing maroon cardigan sweater, and his gut sticks out as though he's six months pregnant.

He says, "Mrs. Irene Adler, I presume!"

Nyota smiles and tries not to twitch at the fictional name she'd given herself. It'd been a little self-indulgent after all. She's a real big fan of the Holmes novels. "Dr. Karidian," she drawls with an enticing purr. "I have so been looking forward to meeting you. It's a shame we are so far apart. I dare say I would shake your hand if I could. You're work is the stuff of legend."

Dr. Karidian chuckles modestly and removes a handkerchief from God knows where so that he can dab at his damp forehead. "I understand that you are looking to have a bit of work done, but can I say that from where I'm siting, I couldn't possibly fathom what you would want to change."

Nyota laughs cattily and uses her arms to push her breasts together (a trick she learned from Christine) and says, "Oh do go on. But in all seriousness, I really wanted to do something—wild. Something like a breast enlargement. Can you manage that?"

"Of course. You can stop by my office and—"

"Oh no, that won't work," Nyota hastily interjects. "Dr. Karidian—can I call you Anton? My husband and I are celebrating three _sensational_ years of marriage and I wanted to do something a little risqué. I heard from a friend that you're the best at what you do. I understand you're booked up for the rest of the year, but if you can make an exception for me, there's blank check with your name on it, and I guarantee any number you jot down can be countered by a higher number if the work seems adequate. The only stipulation I have is that you meet me at the place of my choosing."

Dr. Karidian looks a bit reluctant, and he remains thoughtfully silent as he dabs under his ears. "Mrs. Adler—what you ask of me is a very difficult thing. But, if you will pay me as well as you said, I don't see why I can't meet you halfway. I, of course, will have to charge you extra for traveling fees, priority booking, and equipment transfer."

"No problem," Nyota easily agrees. "I hope you don't mind, but I have a special ship that my husband and I use to avoid all the nonsense that comes with intergalactic traveling. My pilot will pick you up and bring you to where I am."

"Certainly. Now, where might that be?"

"Oh I can't speak of it. My husband is very deep in the government. Best to stay mum about those sort of things," Nyota vaguely explains.

"Oh, right," Dr. Karidian nods accordingly. "When shall I be leaving?"

"The travel itself will take at least three to five days, so I suggest you leave straight away. Tonight," Nyota advises and crosses her fingers behind her.

Dr. Karidian takes a moment to consider it before he nods. "Tonight then. I look forward to meeting you and working on the, um—" He takes a long moment to ogle her breasts. He clears his throat. "Right."

Nyota smiles alluringly, even though she feels queasy. "Until then, doctor."

The screen clears and Nyota sags as she exhales in relief. She quickly unzips her dress as she snatches up her communicator. "Uhura to Scott."

"_Scott here. Yes, love?"_

"Package confirmed. Tell your guy he has the go ahead to pick up and deliver. We're shipping tonight. Make sure he understands that he needs to send Captain Kirk progress of his travel in real time."

"_Aye, got you._"

"And on a side not, Christine wanted to have dinner with the both of us if you're up to it?"

"_With you, I'm always **up **to it."_

Nyota flushes. "Shush. I'll see you later."

"_I'll count the minutes. Scott out._"

Nyota snaps her communicator shut and grabs her PADD. She sends both Jim and Spock notifications about her progress. She silently hopes that everything will go according to plan without any dangerous hiccups.

Now that they've gotten a chance to really get to know each other and get close, Nyota's not sure what she'd do if something happened to Jim. She doesn't think she would be able to stand it.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_So change of plans. If you don't mind SPOILERS, go to my LiveJournal account to check out all the nifty story lines I've spontaneously added to the series. Well, more or less, I've decided to do an Epilogue series that features Jim's life after Starfleet. That's all I will say about that. And also I'm currently working on the next chapter of **Friends with Benefits**. _

_COMMENTS KEEP THIS SERIES ALIVE PEOPLE SO TOSS THEM MY WAY._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Eight**

Spock is an inherently proficient worker, and there is little that can distract him from fulfilling his intermittently variable jobs. This is why he is effortlessly occupying his assigned areas in the Vulcan Science Academy's lower levels, which hold the planar board for the core supercomputer under black reflective satellite glass. The main frame appears to be skidding the central processing unit in inefficient patches instead of processing the focal databank as a whole as preferred by the instructing board of the academy. His mind remains focused as his hands work to correct the errors of the system.

And yet—_always_—there is a continuous part of him that dwells solely on Jim. It is an ever-present stream of consciousness that ponders over her health, her whereabouts, and her safety. And it is an undeniable part of him that has become recently agitated in light of Jim's current and unexpected absence.

Spock is concerned, and he can find no method to dispel or put to rest the incommodious feeling. He had hoped—no, Vulcans do not abide hope. He had _reasoned_ that Jim would make an appearance on today of all days. She is aware that the date of his birth is on the fourth of November, and currently that is the stardate—yet there is no sign of her to be seen.

Three days.

It has been three days since he had last seen Jim. It is longer than he is used to. He does not enjoy this elongated separation. However, it is illogical for him to expect frequent exchanges with his captain. They are not obligated to do so. This fact still does nothing to settle his restless mind. His work productivity has diminished by more that twenty-three percent—it is an unacceptable quantity.

The sun is setting on this day—he refuses to sulk in his disappointment and confusion.

Spock becomes alert to the even footsteps that approach him. He straightens and seals the black glass to the panel from which it came. He is finished anyhow. The databanks should be working now.

Sybok watches him for a little while. In their native tongue, he says, "_You have taken longer than expected. Had I known it would take you this long, I would have assigned this task to myself. As it is, you and I are the last ones here._"

Spock frowns and turns to address his older brother. "_I was met with some difficultly, but that was to be expected. Why are you here?_"

"_Discussions were to be had about the consolidation of the academy's curriculum._"

Spock briefly remembers that Sybok, in all his qualified experience and intellect, is a part of the academy's advising board.

"_You are preoccupied, I can tell,_" Sybok continues as his gaze sharpens. "_And so can father. He is the one who sent me for you. He has noticed your peculiar behavior as of late. Tell me, little brother, what is that about_?"

"_The affairs of my mind do not concern you, Sybok,_" Spock coolly retorts, and clasps his hands behind him as he straightens. "_You may tell father that I am well._"

"_Why should I? Vulcans do not lie,_" Sybok dryly remarks. "_You are well in your body but the sickness rests in your mind._"

Spock does not contest the anger and irritation he can feel arising, but it is his choice not to let it be blatant to his brother who would love nothing more than to know that he provoked him.

"_Excuse me,_" Sybok states with no form of sincerity. His eyes gleam vindictively. "_Perhaps I should be careful with the order of my words. I do not mean to say that your mind is inflicted with an illness. Just that you are troubled by something. What is it that troubles you? Share your burden with me, little brother. Perhaps I can offer counsel_."

"_You can offer none of the such._" Spock takes a moment to just breathe and center himself.

"_You know not if I am able._"

Spock just stares at him.

"_Speak your mind._"

"_I do not wish to discuss anything with you_."

"_Very well,_" Sybok states flatly. He straightens his jacket and takes a moment to glance around. "_Your humans have become tiresome with their affairs. I believe they mean to celebrate your birthday. Or perhaps this was meant to be a surprise. Either way, I do not care. They make a fool of you and us by forcing their illogical Terran customs onto our planet. You should inform them that this is not welcomed._"

"_I will do none of the such. They have not harmed anyone—it is their way,_" Spock scolds defensively.

"_You condone them so readily. One might almost assume your were one of them, but we know that this is not the case,_" Sybok calmly notes. "_You are a child of two worlds. You are at war constantly—for your mind reasons and your heart follows sentiment. Tell me—do you feel for them, little brother? Father and you both share that weakness._"

"It is not a weakness," Spock coldly corrects, switching back to English. "It is a willingness to look beyond the differences and find a common good."

"Common good," Sybok scoffs. "They are irrational beings incapable of reason and utterly poisoned by the conditions of their weeping hearts. I pity them. What is there to learn? Where is this common good? Do not lecture me, Spock. I share not in the love that you and father have for them."

Spock lowers his hands to his sides and his fingers twitch with his upset, but his shoulders remain firm, as does his gaze. He says, "You care enough to challenge me for Captain Kirk."

Sybok's mouth twitches grimly and unmistakable fury passes through his normally blank gaze, but it passes. "_You know that she is more than she seems. Even I would be a fool not to acknowledge the significance she holds, aesthetics aside. Nonetheless, your loss will be my gain. I am sure I can keep her well satisfied. I have recently learned much about Terran women._"

"_Yet you still know nothing,_" Spock hisses, enraged. He quickly contains his anger and relaxes. "_Captain Kirk is not a pet, nor is she an object. She is an exceedingly intellectual woman who deserves more respect than you know how to give._"

Sybok stares at him for a long while. Wordlessly he closes his eyes and his eyebrows twitch as he cocks his head toward the ceiling. A shudder passes though him and he flushes briefly before his skin resumes its normal shade.

Spock frowns as he notices the sudden fluctuation of pheromones wafting from his older brother. "_You are—experiencing the blood fever._"

Sybok shudders again before he replies, "_Not nearly. These are just the initial warning signs. The symptoms will come later._" He shudders a final time before the tremors cease. He exhales quietly before he opens his eyes and looks to Spock. "_I envy you for your lack of experience—though the first cycle is always the worst._" He assesses Spock with a hypercritical glance. "_I do not envy you that. I hope you are prepared. I wonder when it will afflict you._"

"_That is none of your concern_," Spock coldly reminds him. Annoyance begins to prickle into his senses. The sound of his PADD chiming distracts him. When he opens the notification, he sees that its from Cadet Kalomi—she requests his presence aboard the Enterprise in observation lounge 2. "_Excuse me—brother._" Spock walks past him and towards the steel ladder that ascends to the first level of the academy.

"_Of course—brother. Enjoy your human celebrations,_" Sybok dryly states after him.

Spock kindly ignores him in favor of exiting the building. As he navigates his way through the nearly complete city under a darkening sky, he presses down his anger and irritation somewhere low in his gut until he can feel it pinching at his navel. By the time he beams aboard the Enterprise, he has dispelled the caliginous feelings by way of a few simple breathing techniques that his father taught him in his youth.

It is hardly surprising when, upon his arrival to the observation lounge, his Starfleet counterparts give a simultaneous shout of, "Happy Birthday!". He is hardly in a celebratory mood but he inclines his head and says a few words of gratitude so as not to be viewed as rude or ungrateful. They all appear to be delighted by his presence.

Spock notes that Cadet Kalomi is responsible for the festivities, and she has gathered those who she considers to be his closet acquaintances. The attention, although friendly in nature, is uncomfortable for Spock. He has always had a hard time being on the receiving end of jovial-infused notice. He cannot help but to recall the various times that his father had to explain to his mother why throwing '_birthday parties_' were ill-advised.

Spock does not mind the attention when it is based solely outside of personal reasons. He will have to explain this to Cadet Kalomi when given the chance. But for the moment, he does not comment when she makes an indication for him to sit down at the head of the banquet table sitting in the middle of the lounge.

Down the table, his bridge crew, along with a few science officers under his leadership, seat themselves with cheerful attitudes.

Nyota sits to his right with Nurse Chapel and Cadet Kalomi sits to his left with Dr. Cruise.

Some of the kitchen servers began to distribute plates filled with vegetarian cuisine.

Spock finds most of it unpleasant and over-cooked. The substance is like mush, but he does not complain.

Nyota gives him a slight smile and touches his elbow with her own. A rueful gesture meant to comfort.

Cadet Kalomi monopolizes his attention during the course of the meal, and she barely allows anyone else any say in the conversation, which makes for a strenuous setting.

When everyone has cleared their plates, the kitchen servers return to clear the table.

Spock barely has time to excuse himself before an abundantly blue-frosted cake shaped into a science badge is set before him with thin wax candles, which are lit. He lowers his gaze and internally counts as they begin to sing that abhorrent Terran birthday song to him. At the cue, he blows out the candles, but he does not make a wish for the simple fact that it would be illogical to do such.

Everyone claps and Cadet Kalomi quickly gestures to the servers and they begin to cut the double-layered cake and distribute the pieces.

Spock deliberately declines. He holds no want to ingest the overly sweetened cake. The sugary smell alone is objectionable.

Most of his science officers bestow him with gifts of puzzle books and the like, all of which he finds no more challenging than the kind he completed in the earliest days of his youth. He refrains from saying so and murmurs brief words of gratitude since it obvious that they, as the saying goes, '_mean well_'.

Cadet Kalomi bestows him with a gift—an incredibly rare rikka flower native to Taresia—and he thanks her for it, even though he has no need of it. It is a flowering plant that would serve a better purpose in its natural environment instead of on the corner of his work desk in his quarters.

Ensign Chekov and Lieutenant Sulu bestow him with a black and white chess set with glass pieces. He is more grateful than he indicates, but he believes that they understand this. They walk away with pleased, satisfied looks.

Chief Engineer Scott gifts him with a Vulcan port wine, which he claims is legitimately fortified and made by a few Vulcans he happened to befriend. Spock detects no mistruth and so he thanks him for it.

Nurse Chapel and Dr. Cruise gift him Yixing mud clay teacups with a ceramic inside to conserve the heat, complete with a copper teakettle with brass handles and a case of alternating teas originating from different parts of the galaxy. It is by far the most unique contribution.

It is well into midnight before anyone exits. When they do, they leave in tandems until Spock, Nyota and Cadet Kalomi are the only ones left.

"My, what a night," Cadet Kalomi remarks as she scopes the room with bleak blue eyes. It is a harsh contrast to the sharp smile she sports. "I hoped you enjoyed yourself, Commander Spock. I was a bit worried I might have—underestimated things."

Nyota snorts beside him as she begins to clean.

Spock stands and tucks in his chair before he replies, "It was considerably curious. Though I must remark that Vulcans do not celebrate the day of their births in such a way. You did not know this however."

Cadet Kalomi's smile falters and pinches into a thin grin. "I will certainly make a note of that for future references. Though I'm sure this wasn't so horrible. It must have been a learning experience, if anything. But I think someone made a mention about your mother being human. Surely she celebrated your birthday with you."

Spock feels a stunningly sharp lash of cold fury sear into his gut before it bubbles into discontent. He keeps his gaze steadily on Cadet Kalomi and, addressing Nyota in Vulcan, he says, "_Have you been speaking with her about this?_"

"_I did not. I do not know how she knows. She's a little—well, I don't know what she is yet, but it isn't good. Be careful with her,_" Nyota warns without looking at Spock as she continues to clear the banquet table.

Cadet Kalomi frowns slightly as she quickly glances between them in a calculating fashion. "Excuse me, Commander—but have I said something?" She stares at him with a darkly probing gaze.

"Pardon me, Cadet Kalomi," Spock replies with reserve. "I do not mean to be rude. I was merely inquiring on a small matter." He clasps his hands behind him. "I thank you for your geniality. I trust that I will treat you with the same kindness in the near future."

"I would think so, Commander. You and I will be very close soon. And I do so look forward to it," Cadet Kalomi guarantees. She sighs pleasantly and smiles again. "Have a goodnight, and happy birthday." She gracefully waves her fingers at Nyota before she slides out of the lounge like a fluid dancer.

"Was Jim not invited?" Spock questions as he watches the empty doorway.

Nyota drags a tall garbage pail over to the bottom end of the table and she shrugs gracefully. "I'm not sure. She has been MIA for three days now. I don't know if they would've run into each other before then for Ms. Leila to invite her."

Spock's mouth sits into a grim line. "You have not heard any word from her?"

"If I did, I would have told you."

Spock lowers his hands and they twitch at his sides.

"Don't worry yourself, Spock. I'm sure she's fine, even if she's not checking in with her future husband."

"_Nyota_."

"Joking—kind of," Nyota states feebly.

Spock forces his shoulders to relax. "I am not worried."

"Vulcans aren't supposed to lie."

Spock says nothing to this. He feels deeply shamed by his actions because she speaks the truth. He is lying. He is concerned.

Nyota dumps the last of the trash in the garbage pail before she eyes the cake. "You know, she would've loved this cake. It's not chocolate, but she still would've stuffed her greedy little mouth," she comments with unconcealed affection. She sighs and grabs it. "I'll save her a few pieces, but I'm dumping the rest."

Spock finds Nyota's blatant fondness of Jim noteworthy. He doesn't dwell on it long because his communicator beeps.

"_Kirk to Spock_."

Spock stills and Nyota catches his eye with raised eyebrows. He flips it open and replies, "Captain."

"_Drop everything you're doing and come meet me._"

Spock frowns thoughtfully and he shifts away from Nyota's prying gaze. "Jim, where have you been? Are you well?"

There is a distinguishable pause. Then, very softly, she says, "_I'm at the VSA. Kirk out._"

Spock feels a familiar bout of agitation at her unfathomable behavior, but it is easily toppled by an overwhelming sense of relief. He cannot comprehend the rationality behind it.

"So what are you waiting for?" Nyota says, and when he turns to face her, she's holding up a plate. She places another plate, facedown, over the cake and adds a plastic fork and a napkin. "Take this to her. I'll put all your gifts in your quarters."

Spock wordlessly accepts the plate.

Nyota snorts and makes a shooing gesture at him.

Spock exits the lounge, and soon after he beams onto the surface of New Vulcan, he feels slightly lost in his thoughts. He navigates his way through the city and into the VSA, and when he enters he is suddenly distracted by the familiar scent of sunflowers and orange citrus. He follows the smell until he finds Jim on the third level in a classroom the span of a hundred yards, comprised of belowground individual learning pods/vessels. She's sitting on the edge of one directly in the center of the room. She is wearing white cut-off shorts with a royal blue, sleeveless chiffon button-down blouse. Her golden hair is hidden beneath a seal brown hand-knit skullcap.

Jim turns and looks up at him when he approaches her. She looks tired and anxious, but serenely calm. She's leaning back on her elbows as her bare feet swing listlessly over the edge of the learning pod. "This is such a cool room. I mean the technology is amazing. It makes me wish that I would've had the opportunity to study in a school like this." Her cerulean blue eyes sharpen as she studies him. "Come on, sit. I don't like when you hover."

Spock sits beside her and he wordlessly gives her the plate in his hands.

"This must be from your surprise party," Jim murmurs as she removes the plate on top and studies the slice. She sticks her fork into the frosting and twists it before she places it in her mouth.

"Jim, you have been absent for quite some time," Spock comments as he watches her jaw move. His gaze moves up to the long curve of her eyelashes. "I admit to having some incomprehension concerning this."

Jim hums before she sets the plate aside. "Wasn't trying to worry you. I just—had some things I had to sort out." She exhales as she stares ahead and rubs her small hands against her bare thighs. "I had a decision that I needed to make, and I wanted to be really sure before I did anything crazy."

Spock is puzzled, but he is curious.

Jim finally looks at him and she smiles softly. "Happy birthday—even though it's midnight." She turns away and reveals a dome-shaped plastic container. "I thought you and I could celebrate it together in a less than ostentatious manner. So—I made you this." She places the container in his lap.

Spock frowns inquisitively—it feels light and cool in his hands when he picks it up. The smell is vaguely familiar and it prods at his mind. He opens it and on the inside he finds an egg-shaped cake with a green glaze.

"It's a Vulcan fig cake—super hard to make by the way. Your dad said that your mom always made it for you every year on your birthday, and I just didn't want this year to be the exception," Jim explains watchfully. She timidly chews on her bottom lip. "Um, was that okay? I'm not trying to overstep my boundaries or anything but I just thought—" She laughs ruefully and flushes as she looks away. "Just try some."

Spock stares into the container as he swallows dryly.

Vulcan fig cake, even in small amounts, takes over sixteen hours to properly prepare.

That Jim would even—it's—unfeasible.

His surprise mixes and convenes with his insurmountable gratitude. It sits on his tongue like a weight and he cannot verbalize his appreciation for an extended period.

Jim fidgets beside him and patiently waits.

Spock quickly centers himself and settles his mental faculties before he takes the spoon sitting inside the container and uses it to pierce the soft gelatin cake. He lifts it to his mouth and takes it in. His fingers tighten in indulgence around the handle of the spoon as the pleasant taste sparks over his tongue in fluctuations of salty, bittersweet cold. Even after he swallows, his lips tingles. Every bite cools his mouth until his tongue feels as cold as room temperature on Earth feels.

In this moment, Spock's focus is solely on devouring the cake and it opens up places in his mind that he has, for the longest, kept at bay. As he continues to consume the cake, it creates impervious effects on his truncated mood. He thinks of his mother and how it was always his joy to watch her prepare the fig cake when he was a child of no more than two years. He thinks of her voice and the nine hundred and eighty-seven variations therein. He thinks of her smile, her kind eyes, her gentle way with words.

The – _conviction, grief, pain, joy_ - that pricks past his defenses and quakes his shields are alarmingly disquieting. These emotions swell in his gut and in his chest and his hands tremble and his eyes grow slightly damp.

"—ock! _Spock._"

Spock blinks shakily and turns his gaze to Jim who is peering at him with frantic concern.

"Are you—did I—do something wrong?" Jim asks carefully as she avidly studies him. "_Jesus, _it looks like you're about to cry and you have to tell me what to do to make it better because I didn't want that."

Spock swallows quickly and fixes his expression into something more neutral.

"No, don't do that," Jim gently rebukes as she coils her fingers into the side of his shirt and scoots closer until their shoulders touch. "Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

"There is nothing 'wrong', Jim," Spock quickly corrects in a pained tone. But then he adds, "I had thought my feelings of grief for my mother had been properly sorted. I find that I am wrong. The loss I feel is still very present. I am overwhelmed."

Jim nods and she gazes at him with gentle understanding.

Spock looks down and notices that he has cleared the container of its contents. "The cake was—enjoyable. It tasted as well as how my mother prepared it." He looks up at Jim who flushes with satisfaction and something else he cannot name. "I am grateful for your efforts," he continues. "This day has not been it's finest. This is an improvement."

Jim's fingers tighten in his shirt and she quickly looks away with a rare shyness. "I—yeah, I know what you mean." She faces him again and she smiles timidly. "I'm just glad that I could turn it around for you. You deserve as much on today of all days."

Spock says nothing to that. He studies the blunt curve of her ears, then the neat arch of her eyebrows, the cluster of freckles on the bridge of her slender nose, the graceful bow of her top lip, and finally the impeccable blue of her irises.

Jim flushes with an appealing pink at his attention and her smile dampens into a pleased grin. "I want to tell you something while I have your full attention and before I chicken out."

Spock quirks an eyebrow in question.

Jim turns her body to him fully and folds her right leg under her as the other continues to dangle into the pod. She relinquishes the hold she has on his shirt and inhales carefully so as to gather herself. Then she says, "You've been a true friend to me, Spock. You've been someone who lets me have total freedom to be myself and especially to feel. Or, not feel." She reaches up and coils her fingers along the edge of her cap. "And for the past three days I tried to think of a billion ways to tell you how I feel in a way that I know you couldn't possibly misunderstand and it dawned on me that the one thing I could do was to show you and not say a thing. A long time ago, I was told that a woman's hair was her crowning glory and I've always felt like no one deserved to share my glory with me. My hair is something sacred and private for me, that's why I always wear it up." She tugs and pulls the skullcap off until her strikingly beautiful gold hair falls down all around her and reaches to her waist. She pulls it to the side and reveals a thick lock of hair behind her left ear that has been dyed royal blue.

Spock stares as his mind opens up to logic and he processes the unquestionably blatant gesture.

Jim smiles cautiously, even as she watches him anxiously.

Spock traces his dark eyes down the length of her neck, where the royal blue lock of hair stripes her tan skin and to her waist where it stops. His hands twitch around the empty plastic container and he feels a startling, undeniably explicit urge to kiss her with his mouth and his hands, and that impulse alone sends a jolt of awareness through him. Though the clarity he finds about this and about himself is something that can't be placed into words—it simply just is, and even more surprising, it does not alarm him.

_Kaiidth._

Spock reaches over and he curls his fingers in her royal blue lock of hair with a wordless kiss of appreciation.

Jim flushes as she realizes what he's doing, and her blue eyes become gentle with her relief and delight. "I'm taking this as a sign of approval," she says as her mouth fidgets with a smile.

Spock glances at her briefly before returning his attention to the dyed stripe of hair. It is endlessly fascinating, and as he lowers his hand back to his lap, he feels a swell of greedy admiration. "The color suits you well," he remarks evenly.

Jim laughs as she covers her reddened face with her hands. "I'm glad you like it. This would've sucked if you didn't." She peeks a blue eye out from between her slender fingers. "I hope you know that I wouldn't do this for just anyone. No one has ever seen me with my hair down, fully and completely. This is a real privilege for you."

"I am honored," Spock assures, sincerely. He feels selfishly indulged by this fact. The urge to kiss her returns to him in a relentless manner. "Jim, this is disconcerting."

Jim understands well enough what he means. She sighs and says, "Yeah, I know. It kind of threw me for a loop too. That's why I had to really think about it for a few days. You know I'm not asking anything of you that you don't want to give, right? We don't have to put a label on anything. We can just take this nice and slow until we both really figure it all out. I think that's what's best."

Spock brow furrows and he says, "Indeed."

Jim nods and turns to reach for the plate of cake behind her. She sits in on her lap and swirls her fork into it. She lifts a forkful to her mouth and slides it between her teeth. She chews quietly and continues cut into it carefully as her tongue colors with the blue of the frosting.

Spock feels content to simply watch her do so. His gaze, however, is inexplicably drawn to the royal blue lock of hair resting over to her left shoulder, against the curve of her neck and swinging slightly at her waist with each movement she gives.

"So how was the 'surprise party'?" Jim asks between chews as she mimes the quotes. She places her hand in front of her mouth and shields it from view. "Was Leila all weirdly intense about it?"

Spock quietly recalls the superfluous party with ill ease. "It was bearable," he flatly reasons.

Jim laughs and coughs. "Oh my God, I almost choked," she breathes as she coughs again. She chuckles and shakes her head. "It must have been awful if you have to put it like that."

"I would not classify it as awful," Spock explains. "I gather her intentions were not entirely unselfish. She made a rather callous remark concerning my mother when I attempted to correct her presumption that Vulcans do not celebrate days of birth as humans do."

Jim shakes her head. "Well I can believe that. She's so shifty and conniving. I think we might have to keep a close eye on her. I won't have her wreaking havoc on my ship during her residency." She takes the last bite of cake and drops the fork onto the empty plate. "She's got good taste in cake, I'll give her that. Did you even try any?"

"I did not. I find it unappealing," Spock frankly states and Jim snorts. "Vulcans are particularly weak in tasting sweets, although our sense of taste for salty and bitter things is relatively good."

Jim hums thoughtfully as she says, "I tried a bit of the fig cake and it was literally like trying to swallow a spoonful of cinnamon and grapefruit at the same time. I couldn't even do it."

"In order to enjoy the taste of things, we have a tendency to season our food with a considerable amount of spice. I am told that most traditional Vulcan dishes are nearly impossible to eat by other species," Spock reports.

"I'm taking that as a challenge," Jim says. "Now you have to introduce me to any and all Vulcan dishes."

"I do not believe you will be able to condone most of them, but very well," Spock acquiesces.

Jim stretches and yawns. Her eyes water with her exhaustion. "Oh man, I'm tired. I think I've been up since last night." She yawns again. She puts the hand knit skullcap in his lap. "Taught myself how to knit too. I made this for you. It's a selfish birthday gift since I mostly made it just because I always thought you'd look cute in a hat. But it also might come in handy for whatever reason in the future. No need to thank me, you're welcome."

Spock turns the hat over in his hands and studies the make of it. It is finely woven.

"_Guess what else I taught myself,_" Jim says fluently in Vulcan. "_Just listen to me. Three days and I sound like expert. I amaze myself sometimes._"

Spock's dark eyes quickly catch hers. "_Pride is unbecoming, Jim,_" he reminds, even though he is irrefutably fascinated by her eloquent control of his native dialect. "_You speak so informally,_" he notes. "_Vulcan is not meant to be such, yet you are able manage it._"

"_I like to be unique in everything I do. I wanted to still sound like me,_" Jim explains simply. She gives a meager shrug but it does nothing to hide the self-satisfied grin edging onto her comely face. "_It's a reassuring thing to know that no one can speak over my head anymore. I can properly represent myself._"

"_Of this, I have no doubt,_" Spock mildly concurs. "_My father and grandmother will be pleased to learn of your newly acquired comprehension of our language._"

"_I aim to please,_" Jim loosely acknowledges with a secret smile. She yawns again. "Okay, it's time for me to go lay down. I don't think I'll be able to stay awake any longer." She stands, presses her fists together until her elbows stick out, and she twists her upper body from side to side.

Spock stands as well and puts the upper lid back on to the plastic container.

Jim drops her arms and uses her fingers to comb the hair out of her eyes. "Spock, listen. Just so that you don't misunderstand me—I'm saying that I really like you. Probably even more than what's appropriate, but I won't apologize for it. You mean something to me, and I don't know what this is or what it will become, but I believe that between the two of us, we could make something work. I don't want you to give me a definite answer until you're as sure as I am. I want you to really consider everything as equally as I have for the past few days." She pauses and blows out a breath as she folds her arms and holds on to her elbows. "We have all the time in universe to figure everything out as we go along. I want to spend that time really learning you, and I want you to do the same if that's something that sounds conducive to you. But for now, remember that you will always be my friend first, no matter how this turns out, if it turns out into anything."

Spock straightens his shoulders and steadies his thoughts. "I will contemplate this matter prominently," he says. "When I have come to a proper conclusion, I will inform you."

"_No rush. Besides I often hear that all good things come to those who wait for them_," Jim quips in Vulcan with quick wink. She yawns again and makes an annoyed sound. "Okay, okay. I really need to go lay down now." She swipes her plate off the floor.

Spock watchfully asks, "May I escort you back to your marquee?"

Jim nods wordlessly as she gives a tired sniff and rubs the back of her hand against her nose. She looks drowsy but equally content to remain quiet with her thoughts.

Spock gaze is explicably drawn to her and he finds that he begins to file away aspects of her physicality as he has done many times before without a clear understanding why—though he certainly has a vague notion now.

If Jim notices these fleeting glances, she makes no comment of it. She creates a braid starting at the base of her neck, all the way to the tip before she twists it into a bun and pins it there with elongated hair clips from her back pocket.

Spock's fingers twitch around the container he holds as he is hit with a sentient need to see the gentle waves of her yellow hair cascading over her small shoulders like a golden waterfall. He is struck by how much he prefers to view Jim that way. The relative knowledge that she trusts him enough to permit him to share in this distinctive intemperance inspires a sense of private satisfaction he has never known outside of scholastic achievements.

Curious.

When they reach Jim's marquee, she lingers for a moment and anxiously traces her eyes over his face with unconcealed inquisitiveness and contemplation. Finally, she leans up and presses a cool kiss to his cheek, causing him to still in surprise. She pulls back with a cautious smile and she briefly touches her fingers to the back of his hand. "Goodnight, Mr. Spock. And happy birthday."

Spock's lips part to speak but he can find no proper words to verbalize his thoughts.

Jim doesn't wait for a response. She backs away with a friendly grin and disappears through the mouth of her marquee.

Spock stands outside for sometime, still processing the light kiss he can still feel against his cheek. He does not recall moving his feet or the exact moment he returned to his marquee. There are so many prospects unraveling his mind.

An elongated session of meditation becomes his only revenue of sorting through all the disorder wreaking havoc in his mind and in his heart.

Though try as he might to be as logical as possible concerning things, he cannot stop thinking about Jim and that royal blue lock of hair which stands out uniquely in thick tresses of golden waves.

He is compromised.

888

Just as the sun slides into the highest arc of the sky, so does Jim's state of consciousness as she resurfaces from the fuzziness of slumber and abstract dreams.

She wakes up in a drowsy daze, whispering, "_Why is a raven like a writing desk?_" She blinks with tired confusion at the ceiling of her tent. "Why would I think to say that?" she wonders aloud. She presses a hand to her damp forehead as she swallows dryly with a frown. "Why would I think to say that?"

Jim takes a moment trying to remember where she might have heard it as she climbs to her feet. She puts on a crimson red zebra print romper jumpsuit with white studded gladiator sandals. She takes a quick moment to trek over to her work desk and grab a pair of barber scissors she's been keeping in her top drawer. She snips herself some fresh bangs, then fishtails the end of her side ponytail so that it hangs over her left shoulder. She smiles as she threads the royal blue lock of hair through the fishtail and thinks of Spock briefly. She ties it off with a white holder and ruffles her bangs so they hang just along the upper edge of her arched brows.

When she feels ready, she grabs her PADD and begins sorting through all her notifications as she exits her tent. She's happy to see that the _Nu Shi'Kahr _is coming along nicely, and might even be finished earlier than estimated, which would be fantastic. She also makes a solemn note of the real time notifications she's received from Scotty's pilot friend in regards to his escorting Dr. Karidian. According to the timeline of messages, they should arrive later on today, but the last notification says that they've run into a meteor shower and they had to change their plotted course around it. This might set them back a day or two.

Jim heads to the Mess tent and grabs a tray filled with waffles and a small silver dispenser filled with cherry syrup. After she grabs a bottle of water for herself, she sits down at an empty table and continues to sort through her messages and construction projects confirmations that cite what all has reached completion.

Drowning her waffles in cherry syrup, she cuts into them and shoves forkfuls into her mouth. Halfway through, her tray is suddenly shifted out of her reach. When she looks up from the screen of her PADD she is immediately met with a _very _agreeable sight of her frowning First Officer.

_Huh. Never realized how cute it is when he frowns like that_, she thinks with an amused smile she earnestly tries to contain. Aloud, she says, "It's rude to steal other people's food. I thought you knew that."

Spock seats himself across from her and replies, "It is illogical to ingest things you are allergic to."

"I'm not allergic to waffles," Jim quips coyly and tries to make the most innocent face possible because she knows exactly what he means. Her fingers and her toes tingle pleasantly against the full brunt of his focus and attention. She smiles and crosses her legs under the table as she leans forward and rests her forearms against the edge of the rounded table.

Spock eyes warm perceptibly but he dryly states, "You understand well what I mean."

"Do I?"

"_Jim, please do not act coy,_" Spock calmly rebukes in Vulcan.

"I'm not being coy. I'm trying to enjoy my waffles and you won't let me. It's only like a little syrup on there," Jim says as if it isn't a big deal that her waffles are practically drowning in sticky red syrup. "Barely even noticeable."

Spock eyes lowers to the curve of her neck and stays there until his mouth folds into a dissatisfied frown. "_You are beginning to display hives._"

Jim twitches against the urge to scratch, because she does feel the red welts enflaming her skin uncomfortably. It's no cause for concern though; this is her mildest reaction to her allergies. Still, she maintains, "I'm already halfway done anyway."

"_This is not agreeable._"

Jim rolls her eyes when she realizes that he refuses to switch over to English. She secretly thinks he gets some sort of private kick out of hearing her speak his language. Fine then, she'll indulge him. "_Spock, you are going to learn very soon how much you are not going to win this fight with me. Twenty years and I still try to eat the things I'm not supposed to. I've learned how to cheat some of it. And just because I have a soft spot for you doesn't mean I'm going to decide to stop anytime soon. But it should be funny to see you try._"

Spock studies the expectant curves of her mouth and then her eyes as though he were silently weighing his options. Finally, he stands, plate in hand, and deposits it in a nearby garbage bin.

Jim frowns unhappily, even after he retrieves her a new set of waffles with a cup of tea for himself.

"_Corn syrup is a better alternative_," Spock explains and he weathers her glare without giving an inch. "_Your health is imperative, and while I may not always be present to monitor your dietary habits, I will do as I am able. I do not mind contesting the issue, need be."_

"_You cannot out stubborn me!"_ Jim laughs with overwhelming amusement and affection.

Spock calmly sips his tea and quirks an eyebrow.

"_You can't,_" Jim argues inflexibly as she pours the corn syrup over her new batch of waffles. She shoves a forkful into her mouth and wholeheartedly ignores his quiet air of approval. "_This, right now—it so doesn't count. I'm hungry and that is the only reason why I'm even tolerating this injustice. Don't think this is how it will go all the time._"

Spock continues to sip his tea, even as his lips twitch with unworried humor.

Jim chews and fights back an answering grin of irritation and affection. She doesn't like to be bullied, but this doesn't quite feel the same as it would with anyone else. Mostly because she doesn't have a crush on everyone else like she does on Spock. Boy that's going to take some getting used to, she still can't wrap her head around the fact she has _legit _feelings and that he _knows _about them.

_He hasn't mentioned last night. I wonder if he's still deciding,_ she thinks as she uncaps the top from her water bottle and takes quick sips. _Well I'm not going to bring it up again. I've already brought it up once—I'll have to wait for him to say something about it. He doesn't seem bothered, though. _

Jim takes the fact that he's interacting with her like he normally would on any other occasion as a good sign. She stops eating when she feels full enough, and for thirty-five minutes they sit in companionable silence. She continues to sort through her messages and notifications while he finishes his third cup of tea and eats two medium-sized bowls of what looks to be bland oatmeal (she isn't entirely sure) as he works on some kind of project on his own PADD.

Sometime in between it all, Jim fetches herself a chocolate muffin and another cup of tea for Spock. She sits it before him and smiles when he murmurs a word of gratitude. She pulls off pieces of her muffin and pops them in her mouth.

Her communicator chirps, "_Uhura to Captain Kirk._"

Jim frowns and tugs her communicator out from the middle of her bra from the space between her cleavage and shrugs with a grin when Spock quirks his brow in question. "Kirk here. Go ahead."

"_Captain, we need you to come up to the ship immediately. Something is very wrong._"

Jim chews slowly as she thinks. "Alright. Commander Spock and I are on our way. Kirk out." She snaps the communicator shut and looks to Spock who is tracing the line of her bangs with his dark eyes. "I think we better hop to it."

Spock furrows his brow and opens his mouth.

"Figure of speech," Jim interjects with a snicker and shakes her head. "Let's go." She grabs her PADD along with her trash and makes for the exits.

Spock follows suit and when they come to an open area away from the city and the camps, he hails the Enterprise and they are beamed aboard.

Jim lifts both eyebrows when she sees that the Transporter Room is filled with Chekov, Sulu, Uhura, Chapel, Scotty, Giotto, and Captain Daily. "I'd call this a party but your faces tell me this isn't the case," she remarks as she and Spock step off the transporter pad.

"Not in the least," Giotto states with a grim frown. He folds his arms across his chest as he goes on to say, "Dr. McCoy's gone missing. And so has Yeomen Rand."

"What?" Jim says as a surge of thick distress rattles the very core of her being so ruthlessly that even Spock stiffens beside her. She quickly recovers and reinforces her shields as she throws him an apologetic look before she focuses.

Chapel quickly explains the last time she's seen Bones while Scotty explains that Rand and him had a previous appointment concerning a project matter dealing with a request for his aid for the building of a ship-docking hangar on the edge of _Nu Shi'Kahr_.

Jim's stomach feels like it's bottoming out. "So Rand hasn't been seen since Saturday night and Bones hasn't been seen since Monday?"

"Right you are," Scotty confirms with a solemn expression. "We've been talking, and well, we may have a theory of what happened to them."

"You think Kodos took them," Jim says rather than ask and they all nod. "Show me."

They all move to the nearest Ready Room, which resides on deck 9, where Chekov pulls up a virtual map by use of lying his PADD face up in the middle of the conference table they all crowd around. "West is where Enterprise camps are," he says making an indication. "And to east is where Vulcan camps lie. South is _Nu Shi'Kahr_, but if you notice, Keptin, that the initial plot of the circus rests in middle of everything."

Jim grips the edge of the conference table and leans forward to study the three-dimensional map. "You think they could've passed through there at any point?"

"It is the quickest way to get from point A to point B," Giotto clarifies. "I can count on five hands how many times I walked through that carnival getup just to get where I'm going."

Jim silently admits to having done the same, not just for the convenience but also just for the off chance that she might suddenly recognize Kodos somehow.

"Captain, the logic of their estimations are sound," Spock remarks. He's standing to her right and his dark eyes are splitting the layout of the virtual map with a contemplatively neutral expression. "Though I am curious as to how they were captured without notice."

Jim says, "That's the most important question of all." She sighs as she presses her fingers into the corners of her eyes and tries to think and fight against the frantic panic that wants to surface.

Sulu says, "I think he's trying to get your attention."

Jim snorts wryly as she drops her hands. "Which, to be honest, is working."

"True as that may be, I still don't think I get why he would take them," Scotty says as he rubs his chin.

"Kodos is cannibalistic psychopath—his reasons for doing anything isn't really built on logic," Jim points out as she crosses her arms.

No one disagrees.

Captain Daily chooses this moment to speak up. "Pardon me, _boyo_, but I've been told by my own that they've not seen my Commander either."

Jim internally curses Leighton and she isn't surprised that she isn't surprised. "Okay. When was the last time you seen him?"

"Might've been three days. Might've been four," Captain Daily supposes. He scratches his beard. "He's been missing for a time now, and it isn't like him not to check-in with me."

"Well I haven't seen him for just as long. Not since he cornered me Saturday. That was an unpleasant altercation," Jim vaguely replies.

Captain Daily grimaces. "My apologies for that. Your Commander explained the situation to me." He scratches his beard again as his bushy brow furrows with his concern. "Hear me now, Captain—I know that he has his issues and he can be a bit brash. But he has a good heart underneath it all—he's not led an easy life. When I met him he was just a boy stealing and selling Klingon and Romulan battleship parts for no more than what could afford him some food for the night. I feel responsible for him as I would as though he were my own son and I've known him for just as long. He really is a soft-footed lad and I am deeply worried."

"Let me see if I understand this," Jim says with an annoyed frown not aimed to any of them. "Three grown men go missing in the span of four days, just like that, and no one has heard or seen anything odd?"

"I questioned who I could after Lieutenant Uhura and Lieutenant Sulu explained to me the complexity of the situation," Giotto reports. "No one knows anything."

"Okay, that is unacceptable and I won't stand for this," Jim states angrily. She turns to Scotty and says, "Hail your pilot friend. Now."

"Aye, Captain." Scotty quickly moves to the view screen residing at the front of the Ready Room and works to send a communication link out with Uhura's aid.

A very handsome dark-skinned man wearing a leather jacket, a clean-cut goatee and a twentieth century pilot's hat, appears. He looks to be in his early thirties.

"Captain Kirk this is Captain Isan Vincennes, and Isan this is Captain James Kirk," Scotty introduces.

Captain Vincennes nods to Scotty before he assesses each person in the room. His gaze singles Jim out. "Scotty," he tuts. His accent is American—Midwestern mostly. "You never said your Captain was a lady, nor that she was a gorgeous one at that." He winks boldly. "This is an unexpected call," he says. "Is there a problem?"

"Whatever Mr. Scott promised to pay you, double it. Then double it again. Then triple that," Jim instructs and ignores how all the eyes of the room tack onto her.

Captain Vincennes smirks and replies, "I'm not a man to argue a salary raise. What can I do for you?"

"Throw Dr. Karidian out the airlock." Jim keeps a straight face even though there is uproar around her.

"What? Keptin we need him!"

"He's our lead to Kodos!"

"You cannae ask him to just murder the man!"

"Captain, I do not think it would be wise."

"I should say that I have a voice in this as well!" Dr. Karidian appears alongside Captain Vincennes. He's a sweating mess and he looks terrified. "What have I done that you would ask this man to kill me?"

"That remains to be seen," Jim coolly replies. "But I'm glad I have your attention. I knew you were somewhere in there."

Dr. Karidian stares at Jim like she's crazy before his gaze darts to Uhura. "Mrs. Adler! What is this all about?"

"My name isn't Mrs. Adler," Uhura calmly corrects. She's the only one who doesn't seem worried. She must trust that Jim knows what she's doing. "I'm sorry to say that I led you under false pretenses. But I think it would be in your best interests to corroborate with my Captain."

"Nicely put," Jim agrees as she keeps her gaze steadily on Dr. Karidian. She lifts a brow.

"What? What do you want to know? How could I possibly help you?" he asks desperately. He's sweating even more than he was before and his breathing has elevated to pants.

"What can you tell me about what you've done to Kodos?"

Dr. Karidian pales noticeably. "I—I have no idea what you're talking about," he lies, and badly at that.

Jim gives a tight-lipped smile. "Captain Vincennes, strap in. Release the airlock on my mark."

"Aye, aye," Captain Vincennes says with an amused grin. He moves to his captain's chair behind the control stick and flight consoles.

"You can't do this!" Dr. Karidian exclaims in panic.

"Dr. Karidian—can I call you Anton? Well, Anton—I am a Captain of Starfleet. I can do as I please," Jim bluffs.

Dr. Karidian believes the bluff and he goes sickly green. "Please. Please. I swore on my grandchildren that I would never expose him!"

"For future reference, I wouldn't swear on my family like that. Least of all for a mass murderer," Jim coldly advises. "Captain Vincennes, release him on one. Ten—"

"Don't you understand? I can't tell you a thing."

"Nine—"

"And even if I did and you sent him back, who's to say he won't escape again and come find me?"

"Six—"

"Dear God, please just listen to me! Any respectable man knows better than to cross him!"

"Three. Two. On—"

"ALRIGHT!" Dr. Karidian shouts and throws his meaty hands up in surrender. He looks like he might pee himself. "I gave him a full reconstructive surgery that included a sexual reassignment."

Jim stares at him blankly. "Go on."

"He came to me some years ago with quite a bit of money. I was suffering myself from bankruptcy and I was quite desperate. Starved even."

"Skip the sob story."

Dr. Karidian swallows as he pulls loose a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his coat and dabs at his drenched forehead, behind his ears and the corner of his eyes. He says, "All I had to do was keep mum about the operation, and continue to guide him through the transitioning. I didn't ask him why or what it was for—he's such an awful man and he threatened my family. I just did as I was told."

"What kind of woman did you make him into?"

"Old. Frail looking. Someone who you could trust into your home or stop to have a quick chat with," Dr. Karidian says and his eyes dart around the room quickly. "That's all I have. Please."

Jim takes a moment to gather her thoughts before she drops her hands to her sides. "I believe you. But you're going to be in quite a bit of trouble for aiding a well-known criminal." She looks over his shoulder. "Captain Vincennes, thank you for cooperating. I'll be sure you are well compensated. Just be sure Dr. Karidian makes it to us in one piece."

"Certainly." Captain Vincennes winks. "I should be there in two days."

"I'll have things well in order before then," Jim promises and turns her eyes to Dr. Karidian with a grim glare. She makes a gesture to Scotty and he cuts the connection. She spends a few moments staring at the blank screen before she says, "There's an old gypsy woman named Madame Sekhmet. I'm sure that's Kodos playing his part. Just as I'm sure that he used his appearance to lure Bones and Rand and Leighton."

"So what do we do?" Sulu asks.

Jim turns to face her crew and Captain Daily. "I have a plan. But you guys won't like it. I need you trust me though." She meets their eyes individually and lingers when she comes to Spock.

Spock brow furrows but he says nothing.

"Kodos may be insane, but he's not stupid. I'll have to meet with him." Jim puts a hand when they begin to protest. "_Listen _to me. It's obvious you didn't just call me up here because we have three people missing. It's clear that it's more than not being able to locate them. You can't lock on their signals because Kodos must have put them somewhere the Enterprise's sensors can't penetrate. Am I right?" She looks at Giotto and Scotty.

"Aye, Captain. My targeting scanners detected no homing signal on either of their communicators," Scotty admits.

"Well there you have it," Jim says, point proven. "So I'll have to be the one to get Kodos to take me where they are. We don't need any kind of hostage situation on our hands, and we especially don't want him thinking that he can use them as leverage. But you guys have to trust that I can do this."

"Keptin—he will hurt you," Chekov says with a miserable frown.

Jim tries to smile. "I'll be fine." She looks to Giotto. "Gather a team of your best security officers and wait at the base of the transporter pad." She looks to Chekov and Scotty. "I need you two manning the transporter console to lock on all of our signals when I give you the cue to do so." She looks to Chapel and Uhura. "Chapel, commandeer some of your staff and get sickbay ready just in case we need it. And Uhura, I need you to contact both Starfleet and the Argrathi authority. Explain the situation as best as you can and tell the Argrathi authority that they need to be well on their way to New Vulcan for the immediate capture and transportation of Kodos."

"Yes, Captain," Uhura says and spins on her heel to exit the room.

Chekov and Scotty leave next, followed by Giotto and then Chapel.

Jim is left alone with Captain Daily, Sulu, and Spock. "I need you three to have my back—but at a distance," she explains. "Don't be obvious either, we don't want to tip him off that we're on to him. So try and stay as far away as you possibly can while keeping us in sight."

They all nod.

Jim takes a deep breath to steady herself. "Okay. Let's get this over with," she says and leads them to the Transporter Room where Scotty and Chekov are waiting. She climbs the pad and holds up a hand to Sulu, Spock, and Captain Daily. "It'll be less suspicious if we beam down separately. "I'll go first." She looks to Chekov and nods.

In spinning threads of light she's taken from her ship and to the hot surface of New Vulcan, just on the outskirts of the nearly complete city. She rubs her hands along her sides before she walks around the city and to the carnival/circus. She smiles thinly at everyone she passes until she reaches Madame Sekhmet's tent.

Kodos looks up at her approach and his cold eyes flash with something eager and dark. "This woman returns. What a surprise," he comments with an effeminate tone.

"Cut the shit, Kodos. I know it's you," Jim says and balls her left hand in a fist when he smirks. "Are you going to invite me in or what?"

"Where are your manners, Princess?" he murmurs as he continues to rock in his creaking chair. He looks around them, most likely to see if this is some kind of arrest. "Come alone, have you?"

"Yes. I thought you and I could sort out a few things."

Kodos looks cruelly amused. "Ah. So you know I have your suitors. Well, two of them to be exact. Leighton, the fool boy, caused a bit of commotion with me. His capture was unintended, but not unexpected." He traces her outline with his eyes in detached interest. "You've grown beautifully, as I always knew you would."

Jim clenches her jaw and says nothing.

Kodos clicks his tongue thoughtfully and stands before he disappears in the folds of his tent.

Jim hesitates because her heart is thrashing wildly. She can't help it. She has a perpetual fear she can't control when it comes to him—a fear that was ingrained a long time ago. But she's also angry, uncontrollably so, which is why she follows him inside.

He's waiting for her on the other side of his prop table. He makes a gesture for her to sit. "Well now, I don't need to point a gun at you, do I? Not when I have two of your trigger points already," he supposes.

"If you let them go, you can have me," Jim falsely promises.

Kodos snarls and thrashes suddenly, knocking his fists into the table causing both it and Jim to startle. "Do you think I want to trade, you stupid cunt?" he snarls. But just like a switch, his expression clears and becomes serenely calm. "Forgive me, James. That was cruel."

Jim swallows dryly and says nothing. Her shoulders are trembling.

"You know how my temper can be," Kodos continues to say as he sighs. "But what I merely mean to explain is that I did not take them for negotiation. What I want to do is make you give your dues."

"Punishment," Jim hollowly clarifies. Her stomach turns unpleasantly. His discipline was _always _the worst.

Kodos hums. "You're an adult now. I cannot simply take a switch to your backside as a parent might to a child. No. The pain you must feel has to be emotional and spiritual." He lifts his hands and reveals an intricately designed jewelry chest. He opens the top and slides it across the table. There is no jewelry inside. It's a hunting knife. "I want you to carve out their hearts and eat them. All three. And then we can both forgive your betrayal."

Jim gags and shakes her head.

"That was not a request, Princess. You will do this, or I will dispose of them myself." Kodos smiles and his white teeth gleam menacingly. "Would you like to see where I put them?"

Jim glares at him as she holds the back of her hand against her mouth.

He leans forward, and in a whisper, says, "I should think that they will be very happy to see. They've been annoyingly dreary."

Jim stares at him for a long time. Then she says, "Show me."

Kodos smiles and stands, but not without grabbing the hunting knife. He moves to the back of his tent and stops on the edge of a rug. He reaches down and pulls it up, revealing a hidden trapdoor underneath. He uses the knife to indicate for her to go first.

"What are you doing?"

Kodos sighs long-sufferingly. "James, I cannot stand when you act so dull. Did you really believe I'd take you outside so that your watchdogs could follow us?" He scoffs. "You haven't got any better at lying, Princess. Now in you go."

Jim internally curses as she begins to climb down into the man-made tunnel. She wonders how he had time to do all this, but she's more concerned with the condition her friends are in.

Kodos jumps down beside her and locks the hatch. From the folds of his robes, he reveals a flashlight and uses it to navigate them. "Wonders never cease with technology. I've procured the most advanced excavating mechanism which carved the fine passageway you see now, yet on the other hand, here I am still having to use a primitive, battery-operated lantern."

"Ironic," Jim mutters sarcastically between clenched teeth.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Kodos cheerfully concurs.

The damp walls make the tunnel hot and muggy, and all Jim can breathe in is humid air, but luckily the walk is short.

_Fifty-two steps by my count, _Jim thinks as they stop under another trapdoor.

Kodos aims the light at the hatch and unlocks it, shoving Jim out of the way so that a stepladder can fall down. "After you," he murmurs watchfully.

Jim scrunches her mouth unhappily and starts to climb up. It's pitch black and she can't see much of anything, but she can hear Kodos's heavy footsteps somewhere in the stone-cold silence.

There's a clicking chime and whirr of air as the lights come on.

Jim stills as she realizes that they are in one of the larger titanium boxcars. Right down the middle length of it is a wall of reinforced glass.

On the other side are Rand, Bones, and Leighton.

Leighton looks resigned to his fate. He's curled up against the wall with a scowl. He barely moves an inch.

Bones and Rand on the other hand, scramble to their feet at the sight of her and quickly press themselves against the glass.

Jim crowds in too and watches their moving mouths with incomprehension. No sound can be heard from their side. "Can they hear me?"

"No."

"What is this?" Jim asks as she presses her hands to each one of theirs and desperately wishes that the glass wasn't in the way.

Bones shouts something while Rand looks absolutely miserable.

Kodos huddles in close and breathes his rancid breath against the crown of her hair. He's always been a tall fucker. "It is Ianthe's traveling tank," he explains as he lowers his head and presses his cheek to hers.

Bones glares at him and bangs against the glass with a furious expression.

Jim tries to turn her head but he quickly coils his effeminate bony fingers along her jawline to keep her still.

"Quite sturdy," he goes on to say as he uses the hunting knife in his hand to create a shallow cut along her right cheek.

Jim bites her tongue against the pain. Blood drips down her cheek and he dips his fingers against it, smearing it along her lips like some kind of vile lipstick.

"Practically impermeable," Kodos murmurs as he rubs his saggy face into her bloody cheek, staining his own stretched and wrinkly skin. "Though there is one way in. But first I must be sure you understand, James, that the only way I will let you in is on the condition that you do as I have asked you. Otherwise, I will walk to the console behind us and place a deadlock that will not only fill this tank to its entirety, but stay as such until your beloved companions drown."

Jim stares blankly at Bones and Rand, and after a long moment, she gives three deliberate blinks. "Okay," she says hoarsely. "I'll do it."

"Good girl," Kodos murmurs and backs away.

Jim quickly grabs his wrist, twists it over her head as she spins and uses all her upper body strength to dislocate his shoulder, forcing him to drop the knife on the ground as she double-kicks her foot into his side where his kidney is.

Kodos yells and crashes into the glass in an undignified manner.

Jim swiftly swipes the hunting knife from the floor and spreads her feet in a defensive stance as she holds the knife in front of her.

"Nefarious cunt!" Kodos shouts and spits blood at her feet as he holds onto his bludgeoned side as his right arm flops uselessly on the other side. "You degenerate bitch."

"Oh that's rich coming from you," Jim pants back with a winded smirk. "Open it."

Kodos spits blood at her feet again and snarls.

"Open the door or I will cut off your _fucking _head!" Jim snaps viciously.

Kodos takes a useless swing at her and she slashes the knife against his chest, cutting a nice long line across his artificial breasts. He stumbles away from her with a pained hiss and heaves himself to the console in the wall.

"No!" Jim shouts and throws herself on his back.

It's too late. Kodos has entered in an activation code and the lights on the inside of the glass tank begin to flicker on and off with a red signal alarm. He starts to beat on the console until it breaks under his hand and with his hand.

"No!" Jim snarls as she shoves him away and he goes crashing into the floor with a delusional cackle.

"You've gone and fucked them all now, Princess," Kodos bellows with triumph.

Jim tries to fix the console but it sparks and she almost electrocutes herself with the effort. She punches it and screams, kicking at the wall with her feet in fury.

Kodos blinks dazedly with a smugly exultant grin, even though he's got a bloody chest, a dislocated shoulder and a bloody, broken hand. "Shall we watch them die together?" he questions cruelly.

Jim glares at him before turning her eyes to the tank, which is slowly filling with gallons upon gallons of water.

Rand and Bones are beating against the glass in panic.

Even Leighton, who is standing now, has paled in concern.

"No," Jim mutters as her fingers tighten angrily around the handle of the knife. She turns her furious gaze to Kodos. She storms up to him and coils her free hand in the front of his robes, yanking him up and shoving her face into his falsified one. "You don't get to win. Listen to me you utter insane _fuck_. You are going to tell me how I can stop it or I will _peel_ out your fucking irises."

Kodos laughs in delight. "Yes. _Yes. _Do it. Make me feel what I've made you to be."

Jim releases his robes and before he can blink, she jabs the heel of her hand into the bottom his nose and breaks it. She shoves him down as he flails in surprise and straddles his bloody chest, pinning his arms down with her knees. "I don't think you understand me. You haven't made me into anything. This is me, warning you that if you don't tell me how to get them out right now, I will carve it out of you in _screams_."

Kodos coughs against the blood spreading from his nose and sliding into every wrinkled angle of his face as he cackles. Then, he passes out.

Jim shoves herself off of him and kicks at his side several times just to vent the desperate frustration she feels.

Kodos doesn't stir once.

Jim kicks him one last time for good measure. Then she walks the length of the boxcar but finds no exits besides the trapdoor. She wrenches it open and grabs the flashlight from off the floor. She really doesn't want to leave them alone, but she has little options. She needs help. Looking up at the tank, she says, "I'll be back! Don't worry!"

Rand, Bones, and Leighton are up to their waists in water now. They frown at her in confusion. They can't hear her.

Jim stares hopelessly at them before she shakes herself out of it and climbs down into the tunnel. When her feet hit the ground, she sprints to the other end until she's under the other trapdoor. She yanks on the lock until it gives and she quickly heaves herself up. She crawls to her feet and whips past the tent's entrance flaps. "Help me! Help!" she yells, waving her arms wildly.

Sulu, Captain Daily, and Spock are on her in a heartbeat.

It's not until after Spock grabs her flailing arms with a deviated look of thunderous fury and concern does she realizes that she's covered in Kodos's blood and she's got an open cut on her right cheek.

"No, no!" she quickly explains. "It's not my blood, I'm fine—but they—I—I need help!" she stammers, feeling lightheaded from her panic.

Spock relaxes and drops his hands to his sides as he lifts his dark eyes to Kodos's tent behind her.

"What happened? Where are the others?" Sulu asks with urgency.

Jim shows them rather than tells them.

Rand, Bones, and Leighton are up to their chests in water and Kodos is still passed out on the floor.

Sulu and Captain Daily walk the length of the tank, trying to find vulnerable pockets.

Spock is attempting to mend the shattered remains of the control console.

Jim watches his pale hands anxiously while darting her eyes back and forth from his manipulation of the wires to the progressively rising waters of the tank.

The water is above their heads now and there is no space for them to breathe, which is why they are beating against the glass in efforts of freeing themselves.

"Spock," Jim croaks as she watches helplessly.

"Still your anxieties, Jim. I will do as I am able," Spock absently reassures in that intellectual way of his as his fingers work with incredible speed.

Jim swallows and concentrates on breathing.

Spock unearths two wires and he twists them together. "Brace yourselves," he warns.

The lights in the ceiling of the tank flickers into a yellow and blinks.

Jim exhales in surprise as the glass wall retracts into the ceiling and water spills out.

Spock grabs her by the waist and steadies her as gallons of waters gush out into the space of the boxcar and down into the tunnel. "We must leave now while it is still possible. The water will erode the tunnel walls and we will have no means to exit."

Sulu helps Rand to his feet while Captain Daily aids Leighton.

Jim looks at Kodos. "What about—"

"I will see to him. You must assist Dr. McCoy. His captivity will have fatigued him," Spock advises as he makes his way over to Kodos.

Jim wants to protest. She does. After all, she feels responsible for Kodos, and she should be the one to deal with him. But despite this, she reigns in her pride and reaches for Bones, who throws a weary arm over her shoulders and slumps into her side.

Sulu and Rand are the first to climb down, followed by Jim and Bones, then Captain Daily and Leighton. They move quickly as the water begins to rise in the tunnel and they help each other climb up and out when they reach the first trapdoor.

"Sulu, help Bones. Take them out. I have to wait for Spock," Jim explains.

Sulu nods in understanding and navigates both Rand and Bones out of the tent as Captain Daily and Leighton follows.

Jim drops to her knees and studies the darkness of the tunnel. "Come on," she whispers anxiously as her fingers curl into the shorts of her romper. The water rises higher. "Come on, come on, _come on_," she chants, and is two seconds away from climbing down there to see what's going on.

Thankfully she doesn't have to because Spock appears with Kodos over his shoulder not even a second later, and with no help or strain at all, he heaves both himself and Kodos out of the tunnel.

Jim exhales in relief and moves out of his way, following after him when he marches right out of the tent. As soon as they step out into the sun, they go up in a thread of light and instantly rematerializes on the transporter pad of the Enterprise.

Spock, who is drenched in both blood and water (much to his blatant agitation), unceremoniously drops Kodos at the base of the pad at Giotto and his security officers' feet. "I believe he requires medical attention, although he does not deserve it," he comments detachedly.

Jim huffs a small laugh and nods in silent agreement.

Giotto nods stiffly, grabs Kodos by the collar of his robes and drags him to sickbay. His security officers clamor behind him.

"Keptin, are you well?" Chekov asks as he anxiously studies her from behind the transporter console.

Scotty swaggers over with a flagrant grin. "Course she's alright! I didn't doubt you for a minute, Captain," he promises.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Jim replies with an amused smile and ends up winces when it agitates the cut on her cheek. She presses her fingers to it. "I think I better get this taken care of."

"I will escort you," Spock states with a tone that suggests there will be no arguments.

Jim really isn't going to anyway. She could use his company after this whole fiasco.

And to think—it's not even noon yet.

What is her life?

Jim doesn't find an answer, even after one of the sickbay nurses uses a regenerator to heal the cut on her cheek under the relentless gaze of Spock, who looms protectively and doesn't give an inch when Jim accidently (not accidently) knocks her elbow into his side and fusses. But really, she's just fine, he doesn't have to hover like that, he's making the nurse who's trying to help her skittish.

Though, secretly, Jim finds his behavior adorable. She just doesn't want him to know because if she gives him an inch, he'll take a whole mile in this overprotective thing and that will cause some future problems that neither of them need.

Bones, Rand, and Leighton are being pumped with all sort of nifty vitamins and nutritional sedatives that will help them regain what they may have loss during their unexpected capture. As Head Nurse, Chapel personally sees to their recovery.

And as for Kodos—they patched him up, pumped him with a sedative that will keep him unconscious and moved to one of the confinement cells where he will stay until the Argrathi authority come for him. He's being kept under constant surveillance.

Jim stands and stretches, though she doesn't have much space to do it since Spock is _right there_. "You're gonna have to let me breathe sometime or another," she remarks lightly as she walks towards the exit. To Chapel she says, "Let me know when they come to."

Chapel nods and tosses her a quick thumbs-up before she goes back to studying Rand, Bones, and Leighton's vitals on their biofunction monitors while they sleep.

Jim exits sickbay with the full intention of heading to her private quarters and taking a nice, long, hot shower. She feels crusty and sticky and all kinds of uncomfortable.

Spock escorts her there, though he never states that's what he's doing, and before she disappears inside, he says, "I was concerned."

Jim pauses and looks at him thoughtfully. She says, "I know."

Spock furrows his brow as his mouth sits unhappily on his face. His dark gaze studies her knees with an unsatisfied expression. "Perhaps I am not being clear," he goes on to say. "You took excessive risks that jeopardized your safety, and I calculated insurmountable variations of negative outcomes."

"I gambled."

"Indeed. You often do in such situations," Spock remarks as his shoulders tighten with his upset. "I do not wish to los—" he cuts himself off abruptly as a light shade of green dusts his cheeks.

Jim is curious. "What?"

"It is nothing," Spock quickly assures. He straightens and clasps his hands behind him. "I will take my leave so that you may have your privacy."

"Or you could come inside and stay with me for a little while," Jim suggests as she folds her arms and holds on by the elbows. "After everything that's just happened, I don't really want to be alone."

Spock's dark eyes scrutinize her until something thoughtful and soft twists in his gaze. "Very well," he murmurs.

Jim turns and punches in her entrance code, stepping through when the door slides open. "Make yourself at home," she encourages with a flimsy gesture. She walks over to her dresser and fiddles through the drawers for some clothes.

Spock is unnervingly quiet all the while. When she looks over her shoulder, she notices the way he walks around from furniture to furniture, studying her things with unconcealed curiosity.

It takes Jim a minute to realize that this is the first time he's been in her quarters. She smiles to herself as she hides away in their shared bathroom with her clothes and her bathrobe. But her smile disappears as she stands under the hot pressure of the sonic showerhead and before she can think about why, she's crying.

Jim cries for a long time.

Mostly because she's sad.

Mostly because she feels dirty from Kodos's touch.

Mostly because she almost lost two important people.

Mostly because she feels unhinged.

Mostly because she's honest-to-God relieved.

An entire hour in the shower and Jim only spends ten minutes of it actually washing up. She emerges a little bit after she washes her hair properly, dries herself and puts on a pair of basketball shorts she stole from Rand with a tank top. She uses her hand to rub away the condensation on the mirror and huffs in annoyance at how red and puffy her eyes look.

Spock will know she's been crying if he hasn't already sensed it through the bond. She knows that her control of her shields slip when she's crying, which is all kinds of embarrassing.

Jim sniffs and grabs her red paddle brush and begins to detangle her long wet hair. She watches herself do it in the mirror, and she pauses long enough to finger the royal blue lock of hair that rests right behind her left ear. She grins selfishly before she starts brushing all of her hair again. For some reason, seeing that stripe of color in her hair is a lot more comforting to her than anything else has been lately. It's kind of like having a bit of Spock with her always. She likes that.

Jim sighs and drops the brush in one of her drawers when she's done. She exits the bathroom and crawls into her bed with every intention of falling asleep. She only wishes that I-Chaya were there so she could cuddle with her awesomely plush bearcat.

Seriously, I-Chaya was better than any pillow or stuffed animal.

Jim smiles to herself as she piles her pillows around the curves of her body and she faintly notices that Spock is sitting behind her work desk with one of her PADDs. "What are you doing?"

"Compiling a statement for the events that transpired today."

Jim huffs as she hugs a pillow to her body and closes her eyes. "Fun."

"Not remarkably so," Spock replies, not wholly ignorant of her sarcasm.

Jim rocks her foot, which in turn gently rocks the rest of her body, and this movement propels her further into sleep.

Spock remains as a quiet presence of reassurance the whole time.

For that, she is more grateful than she can express.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Nine**

Jim wakes up from her nap (two hours later) with her heart in her throat, thumping to the beat of her pain, sending a rapid pulse to her wrists, the side of her neck and to the soles of her feet. She's in such a deadlock of confusion and all she can feel is the pure physicality of her body. She smells the salt from the tears and sweat mingling together in her eyelashes, and there are ghost pains of a knife cutting into her right cheek. She hears the foul cackling of a cruel man ringing in her ears, chasing rigid fear down the vertebrae of her spine and the horror of her nightmares chase her into reality.

Jim feels stuck for a moment, pinned in place by an invisible force as the bitter tang of blood floods her mouth and it takes her a moment to realize that she's biting down on her tongue. She shakes against the growing panic because she feels thirteen all over again, stuck at the bottom of a fathomless pit with nothing but darkness and heat and the spiteful mockery of boys that would drop their pants and piss on her head for sport.

Jim whimpers and tries so hard to remember who she is, where she is, what this clutches her sheets desperately because her fear and panic have blackened her vision, sending her careening deeper in a state of chaotic nausea. She spends exactly six seconds thinking that she's gone blind before everything clears and comes into startling focus. Her shoulders are trembling so badly and her skin feels tight and her chest hurts and she knows that she's edging along a swelling panic attack (if she's not already halfway there already). It's blatant will that pushes her into an upright position.

She blinks away a veil of tears and they slide warmly down her flushed cheeks as Spock comes into startling focus. Instead of sitting behind her desk like she remembered, he's sitting at the end of her bed, watching her with obvious concern and a furrowed brow. He says nothing as he studies her with quiet calculation, and maybe it's because he knows that's just what she needs—no words. She's trying hard to keep it all together.

Silence passes like that for a long while, grows, expands, and becomes weighty like something invisibly tangible. The clicks, whirrs, and hums of her ship act as a calming lullaby, but it does not push off the weight she feels from her anxiety. _I'm still afraid,_ she thinks miserably. _I lost all my anger when I caught Kodos, and now there's no wall to block all this fear I still have. As long as he's alive, I can't stop being afraid and I hate it. I hate it. I **hate** it._

Another tremor seizes her shoulders and Jim leans forward until she's crawling to Spock, stopping when she's six inches away with anxious eyes. Her heart is spinning like a tilt-a-whirl behind the teeth of her ribcage and she wants so much to reach out and clutch him close until she sinks into his heat and smell long enough to forget herself. She wants it so bad that she draws as close as she can until she forces herself to stop. "Would you—can I—" she chokes on the words because it's hard to ask—hard to speak. She needs contact.

Spock has this way about him where you can see the genius of his mind processing the world around him and he silently disassembles it all in order to understand the function. It pours out through his dark eyes and bleeds into his shoulders and sometimes encapsulates the corners of his mouth. There is a process of thought that he goes through as he examines her face and her shaking shoulders before he angles his body towards her, and the gesture speaks to his openness to accept her physical contact. He doesn't use words because he understands the lack of need for them and there's a part of her that wants to know why he understands but there's also another part of her that already knows the answer.

Jim chokes on a little sob and climbs into his lap, wrapping her limbs around him like a convoluted squid (legs folded around his waist and arms folded around his ribcage). She doesn't mean to do this, she really doesn't—she's not trying to push any limitations and she feels so sad and ashamed that she's imposing on him like this. He's so warm and firm and she hides her face in his shoulder to cry. She's got so much pent up energy in her that she can hardly keep herself from fidgeting, from pawing at his sides like she doesn't know what to do with her hands, and she's moving so much that she might just topple off his lap and onto the floor. Oh God, she's sorry for this, so sorry for this—_sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorrysorrysorrysorrysorr—_

Something in Jim breaks and she fists her hands into the sides of shirt with a grip that becomes painful because she feels as if she could float away with her fear—like she could go up into the ceiling and out into space and float into the cold nothingness with nothing but fear as her companion and _God _that is a terrifying thought which bludgeons a tortured sob from her small frame.

Spock says not a word. His hands move very carefully up her arms, fingers folding over the meatier part of the back of her upper arm. His fingers feel like thin, hot bands of a grip that holds, reads, processes—and he must see, must feel, and must _know_. He knows not to say anything, not to ask, to just let her be as she is. Words are useless, but his body speaks in other ways. He lets go of her arms, gently sliding his hot palm down the knobs of her spine before coming to a rest at the small of her back and that touch echoes with '_I am here_'. His other hand moves and curls over her shoulder to keep her steady in this embrace with a touch that says, '_You are not alone_'.

Jim shudders and cries in his arms because she feels weak for wanting this and wrong for soaking up the comfort it gives her. She cries because she never expected him to hug her back or do anything besides sit there and let her be clingy and emotional and wet all over him. She cries because she expected him to scold her presumptuous touches. He's usually tense and stiff when they make contact but this time he's receptive and sensitive to her feelings. She cries because he cares enough to do _something_. She cries because she can't help it and it hurts to let it out, to let him see, to let him help. Her grip tightens into something desperate and her throat burns raw with her sobs.

Spock whispers some kind of Vulcan expression into her hair that she can't quite grasp because his voice is so low, and it rides over her like a placid enchantment.

She sniffs as she comes down from the elevated heights of her grief, anger, and fear. Her body eases into a relative state until her flesh settles over her bones more naturally so that she feels less odd as though she's wearing someone else's skin.

Spock's heat soaks into her clothes and her skin and she shudders as goose bumps breakout over her shoulders, her stomach and thighs. She lingers in the embrace and memorizes the gentle compassion of his grip before she reluctantly pulls away and sits besides him.

Spock stands and walks away, his footsteps are so even and quite. He returns with a box of Kleenex tissue, a cup of water, and an assessing gaze that probes and prickles her like the tips of sowing needles.

Jim wipes her eyes and nose dry with tissue, attempting to make herself look more dignified. She feels lighter and brand new, if not completely embarrassed. She tries not to think about it as she swallows some water (because her throat is sore from weeping) and downs the entire glass before setting it on the floor by her feet. She sniffs with every hiccup her body gives and concentrates on wiping Spock's shoulder clean. She really blubbered all over him and it makes her want to shy away under his gaze. "I'm sorry," she says hoarsely. She sounds like a husky chain smoker, and he just watches her as she dabs and dabs and dabs at his shoulder. Her heart knocks unsteadily and she wants to hide under a rock because his gaze feels as keen as a laser and it makes her fidget. "Sorry," she mumbles again. "I've got my gross germs all ove—"

"Jim," Spock interjects carefully. His dark eyes are cutting deep, scanning, processing, finding her secrets, and it makes her feel simple and naked and she wants to bite down on her already sore tongue to keep from babbling like she does when she's really nervous. She doesn't want to come off as a fool, even though she feels very foolish. He says, "I am more than familiar with your 'germs'. Your poignancy does not make me uncomfortable."

Jim presses her lips together as she looks up at him before dropping her gaze to his jaw. She goes a bit pink and her bare toes spasm into the floor. "Um," she says coherently. "How can—how do you manage to make this sound like such a normalcy between us?"

"Perhaps because, in a way, it is," Spock truthfully replies. He sounds as if he has all the answers to the universe and to life and death and Jim. It's a frank quietude that blankets his physicality with a mellow sort of serenity and he looks calmer than she's ever seen.

Jim just takes a moment to really wonder about that because she hardly wants to believe that this is the kind of effect she has on him—that he could be so comfortable in his own skin around her, and not question things, and just understand everything that is, simply because he views it as normal and accepts it, because it's _them_.

God, what does that even mean though? Jim has no idea, but she kind of wants to kiss him until she can figure it out, wants to taste that understanding on his lips, soak it in and share in the infinite possibilities. She wants to open him up with her tongue and find the answers he has on his and chase it—

Spock reads it on her face with a vague notion of intrigue before he says, "I believe my shoulder is efficiently dry."

Jim frowns in confusion before she blinks and realizes that she's repetitiously dabbing at his shoulder with tissue. "Oh," she says and draws her hands away quickly. She balls up the used tissue in her right hand, strangling it in attempts to combat the growing embarrassment she feels for being so caught up that he can _read it _off her face. _Pull yourself together, _she silent thinks, sliding her left hand through her hair before gathering it all to lie over her left shoulder.

Spock's dark eyes dart down and there's no mistaking the direction—he's staring at the royal blue lock of hair she knows is showing. He stares and the blockade of control that allows him to maintain that neutral expression cracks just a bit, just enough that she can tell what he's thinking about doing.

It pools something warm and proud in her gut and she presses her thighs together because the direction of her thoughts are spiraling into dark, seedy places and she really isn't trying to go there okay? She just cried her eyes out and the jump from depression to arousal seems like an unethical leap. But she can't help that she thinks about coiling her fingers around that dyed lock of hair, just to flirt with him, just to see what he would do. She's curious about things like that—things that make her think of Spock in a different light. She wants to learn him. She wants to know what makes him tick, if she makes him tick, how she makes him tic. Her fingers tighten over the balled up tissue in her hand and Spock's cheeks tinge with green as he studies her face.

Jim coughs and looks away as she stands (he does too, just as quickly) and she says, "I'm going to put my uniform on and go down to sickbay just to put all my anxiousness to rest. I don't think I stopped thinking about Rand and Bones since I left. I—yeah." She scratches the side of her neck awkwardly and fidgets.

Spock merely inclines his head and clasps his hands behind him, carefully reassembling his stoic façade.

Jim shuffles around him and over to her walk-in closet to grab her captain's uniform, taking a moment to quickly change into it with a pair of nylon tights and black hiking boots. She counts backwards, thinks of un-sexy things and puts on her best poker face, deliberately ignoring the way that stupid sparkly shoebox winks tauntingly at her. After she braids her hair, she straightens the line of her shoulders with a centering exhale and exits her closet.

Spock is patiently waiting by her door and he immediately adjusts his stance when she enters the room as though she were some kind of royal queen.

Jim's mouth wiggles against an indulgent smile at her First Officer's display of notice. She doesn't think he realizes that he's done it, but she's flattered all the same. It makes her feels like a solid one in a crowd of a billion. She says, "You've informed Admiral Barnet of the situation?"

"Indeed. I issued a report with pronounced detail, though he has informed me that your statement is one he requires above all others," Spock remarks as they exit her quarters and walk down the corridor to the turbolift. His dark eyes say something of what he thinks about the situation, and it is an opinion riddled with both humor and disquiet. "He was rather adamant that I encourage your following protocol when I communicated your disinclination of official procedure, and the administrative work therein. He did not seem surprised." His tone of voice is curiously pensive and his brow is furrowed as if he is recalling the incident in his mind with great calculation.

Jim looks elsewhere as she grins. "Admiral Barnett knows as well as you do that I hate doing paperwork. It's all so—" She makes a flimsy, circular motion with her hand to gesture the thought. She drops her hand and snorts when Spock quirks a questioning eyebrow. "It's boring and stiff and so flatly concise. It takes the fun out of the job."

Spock gazes at her for a long moment before looks away with a solemn frown. His shoulders shift into a disquieted line and he becomes abnormally silent.

If Jim were as good as she thinks she is at reading him, she would say that he looks uncomfortable. But why?

Spock's dark eyes move restlessly before he says, "Many individuals associate me with those precise set of terms—among others."

Jim immediately frowns and her first initial reaction is to blurt out some kind of flippant comment but she has the explicit suspicion that it wouldn't be wise. So she takes a moment to look away and think very carefully about what might be happening.

The turbolift comes to a complete stop and the doors swish open.

Neither of them steps off.

"What exactly are you saying?" Jim questions as her eyes fix to some unknown point down the hall. She grabbing at the space between them but it's cold and she can't pick up anything.

"Forgive me, Captain. It was not my intention to—" Spock hesitates. He is choosing his words carefully. "I was merely recalling a few instances of the like." He clasps his hands behind him and his shoulders tense a fraction further. "I—wonder if you do not think the same. We are very different."

_Ah, _Jim thinks. _So that's what this is all about._

"You want to know why I like you," Jim reasons and she glances at him but he avoids her gaze, the first sign that she is right.

"Affirmative."

Jim watchfully studies the line of his body, and there are a lot of adjectives that come to mind—some appropriate and most not. She doesn't even know where to start, but that's because she's thinking of the physical things. She steps forward and quietly walks to the console on the wall next to the turbolift doors, punching in a code that places the lift on manual lockdown.

The doors swish close and there is a strike of immediate silence.

Jim turns to Spock and steps up to him until there is exactly three inches of space between them. She wants to touch him, show him with her hands and her lips what she likes, what she thinks, what she _feels_, but she knows it would be better if she didn't. Sometimes she doesn't like words, but Spock isn't like that. He needs words and logic and audible verifications. He functions with reasoning and Jim knows that if she wants to get through to him, she has to present her thoughts to him in a way he can't misinterpret.

Spock watches her with a form of curiosity and apprehension. He is still, hands clasped at the small of his back, elbows sticking out and face as impassive as ever. But his eyes are just as expressive as he remains silent, waiting.

Jim, not one to disappoint, says, "How long have you been wondering that?"

Spock's lips part with his reply until his mouth stalls over the shape of words, then the shape suddenly morphs into a frown because whatever he means to say is lost in the entanglement of logic, which dwindles down this reply into a insignificant nothing.

Jim hates when that happens, when he cuts down his own words because he let's his mind dictate what his heart wants to say. She has to read it from his eyes when he does that. She has to go on looking at him, figuring him out, feeling (without feeling) the silent spaces between them and grabbing at what she can pick up. It takes her a moment but she smiles, even though she knows it must be confusing to him. Almost a year ago, he would have never bothered to ask her such a question, but now he feels comfortable enough to question her about personal things without necessarily shying away. It makes her smile. She says, "Because."

Spock waits for her to continue.

Jim's smile softens and she repeats, "Because."

"I do not understand," Spock replies truthfully.

Jim takes one step closer and explains, "I like you _because_ you are boring and stiff and so flatly concise and _because_ you take the fun out of the job. I like you _because_ you are the most interesting person I have ever met, and your observant, and I have never been happier with my choice to enlist in Starfleet _because_ I got to meet you and I am _absolutely _a better person for it." Her face feels so hot and her ears and the back of her neck is burning with a flush she knows is there but she drills on regardless—this is important—this is the edge of a breakthrough, she knows it. "I like you _because_ you've got astonishing intelligence. I like you _because_ you respect me and you make me feel special enough to know that you can't take care of a plant you must have had for years, but you can memorize four hundred and sixty three of my hairstyles."

Spock's cheeks and ears tinge green at that.

"I like you _because_ you are annoying and stubborn. I like you _because_ your heart is in your gut, even though sometimes you try to pretend as if you don't have one at all. And I'm willing to run to you with my problems even when I feel like I should be taking care of it all on my own." Jim is baring her soul, hoping that something is getting through, but Spock just drops his hands to his sides and that doesn't seem very encouraging at all. But she pushes on, "I'm willing to let you know the bad aspects of me as well as the good. I like you _because _you have a way of understanding me better than I can understand myself. And, this a little off topic, I like you _because_ you _refuse _to admit that I certainly did best you in the Kobayashi Maru and I will one day get you to confess my superiority on that front just so you know. And I could very keep going—but the gist of it is that I just like who you are because to me there really isn't anyone else I feel so very aware of than you. You are my focus point. My—"

Spock closes the distance between them and kisses her. Like—he _kisses _her. He swallows the rest of her sentence in the warm press of his lips.

Jim is more surprised than she will ever be able to describe. She flounders a bit before she leans up, cups her hands around his warm neck and kisses him back like it may very well be the last thing she gets to do. A thrum of electricity bites at the tip of her toes and sparks up the tissue of her muscles and into her mind where the bond vibrates in satisfaction. The world goes sideways until it disappears altogether, and there are no stars like those sappy romance novels and cliché movies would have you believe, but there are full out flashes of luminescent sparklers that dance behind the lids of her eyes. Her heart careens as her fingers grip the short hairs at the base of his neck and she is so surprised how soft it feels under her fingers, and wow, his lips are softer than she imagined, but definitely as warm as she assumed. It is like kissing someone with a fever.

Jim melts as his lips moves softly and she thinks of bright colors and the echoing happiness that spirals through her as she moves her lips with his. She thinks she could get used to this, and wonders why they didn't just do this the first time they met and the thought nearly sends her into a fit of giggles. She must do a bad job of containing it because he bites her bottom lip in reproach, which in turn causes her hips to jump forward as a nice sum of blood waterfalls into the more private areas between her thighs with a throbbing echo of want. She wants him to learn him so bad—not just sexually, but in ways she can't describe. She wants to attune herself to him, wants to be adjusted, wants to be so involved that they breathe in sync and their hearts beat in sync. Jim gives a watery smile at the thought and she feels like such a hopeless sap. With just a kiss, she feels done for—_Christ, _it's not even an open mouth kiss either. She doesn't know how she'll cope with the rest if she can barely handle a closed mouth kiss.

Spock puts his hands on her waist and gentles the pressure of his lips before he tilts his head until their foreheads touch. He breathes shakily and says, "Forgive me, Jim—I had not meant to."

Jim makes an incoherent sound. She is _so_ glad that he did.

"I have been fighting this impulse from the moment you reappeared from Kodos's tent," Spock confesses as he closes his eyes and furrows his brow. He looks as if he's desperately trying to sort his thoughts. There must be a battle between his heart and mind wreaking internal havoc. "The thought of losing you has overwhelmed me, and while I know that it would only be logical to evaluate all the possible outcomes of our future together before the pursuit of anything else, I find that I do not care. I—will always regret never communicating to my mother how important she was to me. I do not want this to be the same truth between us. If it is my choice to be with you, then this is what I want."

"_Oh_," Jim says weakly as her knees shake.

Spock kisses the corner of her mouth, then the corner of her eye, and finally the middle of her forehead. In Vulcan, he utters, "_You are my weakness—but this I will allow_."

Jim wraps her arms around his neck and hides her burning face into the side of his neck. She shudders when his arms wind around her and he presses his nose into the side of her neck. They stay like this for a while—maybe two lifetimes, maybe an eternity. She feels weak and elated—it could all be a dream. It would be so horrible if this were a dream. She wants it to be real, she wants so much for some many things that it scares her. She's never wanted like how she wants with Spock. She's a realist but with him she has yearning for immeasurable depths.

She pulls back she presses her lips to his once, twice, and five more times because it is her joy to do so, because he lets her, because each time before feels short and she needs more. It takes a moment before she wills herself to put some distance between them.

Spock merely coils his finger around her shoulders and pulls her back again.

Jim smiles against his mouth as she lifts her hands and strokes her fingers along the tips of his ears. She wiggles out of his grasp when he tries to undo her braid and somehow it feels a lot like he's trying to undress her and she blushes but she likes it. "Okay, okay. You are making me into a bad friend. We were supposed to get off, I don't know how long ago and if we don't go now we'll never leave."

Spock's dark eyes reflect his content to stay but he straightens and clasps his hands behind him.

Jim takes a deep breath and fixes her half undone braid and the line of her shoulders before she punches a withdraw sequence into the console. The turbolift doors open and she steps out into the corridor with Spock trailing behind her.

Upon entering the medbay, Jim notices that Rand and Bones are awake.

"I was just about to call you," Chapel claims as she continues scanning both Rand and Bones with her medical tricorder.

"How are they?" Jim asks as she approaches. She assesses them, and they both look drained, not just physically either. She feels guilty for a lot of reasons.

"The boys are all fine, thanks to me," Chapel murmurs distractedly as she reads the results on her PADD. "You know, they _are_ awake. You can ask them yourself."

"Next on my checklist," Jim promises amusedly. She looks to Rand and then to Bones. They are both watching her steadily with a sort of restraint in their posture. It's as if they are fighting the urge to ambush her with hugs, not that she would mind. "Jan, how are you?"

Rand makes an indecipherable gesture with his hands and shrugs. It's neither negative or positive.

"Okay," Jim says simply. "I can understand that." She looks to Bones. "How are—"

"Kid, I'm just happy to be alive. I'm happy _you're _alive," Bones gruffly admits. He flicks his gaze over to Spock, who is lingering in the doorway. There's a depth to the frown that appears, and the expression in his eyes is twisted with something Jim can't name but it's gone before she can figure it out. He turns his gaze back. "So where is that crazy bastard?"

"Safely secured," Jim assures. He looks so very tired. "Speaking of secure—how did he manage to get to you two?"

"He was an old lady as far as we knew," Rand explains and frowns deeply. He looks adorably confused about the thought.

Jim crosses her arms and hides her amused grin behind one hand as she says, "So you're saying he preyed on your—chivalry?"

"Don't laugh. It's not funny," Rand quickly says, even though his own lips twitch. He rolls his eyes at himself.

Jim lifts her hands. "I'm not laughing, I swear. I am entirely too relieved to see you both are safe and sound. You gave me quite a scare."

"Same here, Kid," Bones says and gives her a pointed look. Of course he hasn't easily forgotten the whole scene he witnessed between her and Kodos. Of course he doesn't like it when she puts herself at risk for the good of others.

"I'm a package deal," Jim says softly. _Are we okay?_

Bones snorts. "Trust me, Jim. I know." _We're always okay._

Jim smiles and looks to Rand. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything about—"

Rand holds up a hand. "It's okay. Len clarified some things during captivity," he says with a meager shrug.

Jim nods quietly. She looks to Bones and then back before she says, "I need both of you to issue a statement to Admiral Barnett. The Argrathi authority will be here very soon to collect Kodos." She pauses as she looks to Leighton, who is keeping to himself on the third biobed. He looks miserable. "Alright Leighton?"

Leighton says nothing. He strokes his hand over his wrist brace, sulks, and ignores everyone and everything.

Jim takes a calm breath before she glances around. "Everyone out. I need a moment alone with the Commander."

Everyone hesitates but they shuffle out and clear the medbay.

Spock approaches her from behind and stands beside her.

Jim thinks about asking him to leave as well, but she knows better than that. He won't go—not after the last confrontation between the three of them. She says, "I'm going to ask one more time—are you alright?"

"What do you care really?" Leighton gruffly replies. "I have nothing to say to you, Kirk."

"I believe a form of gratitude will suffice, seeing as how Captain Kirk saved your life," Spock reports.

Leighton snarls as he hops to his feet. He curses in rapid Klingon.

Jim is intrigued by how fluent he sounds, and if they were different people and if this were a different situation, she would ask. But it's not and they're not, so she can't. She can only speculate.

Spock steps forward but Jim stills him by putting a hand on his arm. She says, "I don't want your gratitude. And I realize that you still hate me—but leaving Kodos alive was the better option."

"You've done me no favors and you still know nothing," Leighton snaps and spits at Jim's feet. His fingers curl into fists at his sides and his one visible eye twitches with so much anger and hate. "I owe you a debt, Kirk. Let's leave it at that. The sooner I can get off your fucking tin can and away from you and that bastard, the better. I swear if I have to stay here even a second longer I will go find him and do us all the favor and end his life."

"Fine. Leave." Jim is tired of him anyway. He is exhausting.

Leighton glares and storms past them, leaving them alone.

"Most would not be as accommodating as you have been towards Commander Leighton," Spock notes with a furrowed brow. "I confess that I am one of them."

Jim hums thoughtfully before she turns to face him fully. "I don't hate him—I just understand," she explains. Under his gaze, she continues, "Him and I—we've fought all of our lives and done things we weren't proud of in order to survive. That does something to a person. I can't blame him for the way he is. I don't feel anything about him, but I understand."

Spock takes her words with an air of contemplative silence. Then he says, "You are admirable. It is unfortunate that Commander Leighton did not go the way you have. I would have been more inclined to tolerate his company."

Jim grins proudly at the open compliment and leans up to kiss him on the cheek.

Spock tilts his head into it as he quickly strokes his middle finger down the length of her inside wrist and across her palm to her middle fingers.

Jim quickly returns the Vulcan kiss by stroking her fingers back before pulling away with a happy grin. "Help me with my paperwork?"

Spock leans forward and kisses her quick, winding her for a moment, and rests a hot palm of her back as he guides her out the ward. "I will keep you company," he replies.

Jim sighs. So that was a 'no' on the help.

888

A day later and the Argrathi authority arrive to seize and transport a transgendered Kodos. Jim does not go to see him off (not that she would want to anyway). Spock and Giotto take her place in that front so that she can sit with Dr. Karidian in her Captain's Ready Room and put him to trial with the help of the Starfleet Admiral Board on the other end of a view screen.

The unanimous vote is guilty, and Dr. Karidian is sentenced to six years in a minimum-security prison with fines up to 650,000 in credits (most of which he's earned from aiding Kodos).

Jim thinks they went easy on him. He was basically an accessory to murder, and she tried to bring that point to front, but as always, the Admirals had curtly dismissed her notions like some husband waving off his fretful wife's concerns.

Fucking patriarchy—she hates it.

When they are dismissed and Jim is given the burden of arranging a transport for Dr. Karidian back to Earth to face his charges, she stands and gestures for him to follow.

Dr. Karidian waddles after her, dabbing at his sweaty brow with nervous fingers and a distraught expression.

Jim hardly feels bad.

Dr. Karidian waits until they've stepped onto the turbolift to say, "The prison, place, institution thing—will it, uh, will it be in the states?"

Jim crosses her arms and continues to quietly keep her gaze forward.

"It's just that—I would want to be somewhere close to my family," Dr. Karidian continues, ignorant of her cold shoulder. "My oldest daughter just had twins, you see. Girls. And I would hate to be somewhere they couldn't come and see me." He takes a moment to sigh. "My business will be disturbed by this, I'm sure. I don't want to leave Ms. Fiona Ray in management. The office would be in ruins—"

"Hey listen," Jim sharply interjects as she turns and crowds into his space. "Let me explain to you what's going on here."

Dr. Karidian swallows and clutches his handkerchief to his chest as he backs himself into a wall.

"I am taking you back to Captain Vincennes so he can transport your ass off my ship and back to Earth because _you_ just got six years in a _minimum _security prison for _aiding _a mass murderer with a 650,000 fine." She jabs her finger into his chest and says, "I don't give three hundred flying fucks about your business or if you'll be close to see your family. The people that Kodos has killed—they don't get these luxuries. They're dead. Point and blank." She takes a moment to shake her head and backs away. "And you got off easy when you were every bit responsible for it, even if you weren't the one stabbing or shooting or strangling. You should be in a _fucking hole_ just as bad as what Kodos is going to get. This isn't a game, this isn't an extended vacation, this isn't fucking house arrest and I don't know why my leaders are treating your charges like it is but I don't agree with how you were sentenced."

Dr. Karidian looks startled and guilty.

"So please. _Please. _Do me the immense favor of shutting, your, _mouth_." Jim gives him one last venomous glare before she faces forward again.

Dr. Karidian stays frozen against the wall for sometime, but he doesn't utter a syllable.

The turbolift comes to a stop and the doors swish open to the hanger deck of the ship.

Jim strides forward and approaches Captain Vincennes, who is waiting patiently beside his ship. "Captain Vincennes. Thanks again for assisting us," she says as she shakes his hand.

"Oh it's no problem, Captain Kirk. This was one of my mildest jobs. I do expect to be well-compensated for it," Captain Vincennes replies with an amused wink. He shifts the captain's hat on his head as he assesses Dr. Karidian. "Come on. Let's not waste anymore of the lovely woman's time."

Dr. Karidian mumbles but he climbs aboard the ship with minimal fuss.

Captain Vincennes huffs and shake his head before he turns back to Jim. "For future reference, I'm a bit of a freelancer. If you ever need my help with anything—" He makes a vague gesture with his hand. "I am a procurer of sorts. Monty knows how to get into contact with me. I'm not an easy man to find." He gives a shrug. He studies Jim for a moment before he goes on to say, "I don't know how this whole thing goes with Starfleet or if you get off days. But if you do, I'd be open to having a drink."

Jim smiles slowly with good humor. "Yeah, um—I'm going to have to pass. I'm seeing someone," she explains.

"Ah," Captain Vincennes says. "Serious?"

"Potentially."

"Damn," he jokingly quips. "The good ones go fast." He sighs before he salutes. "I'll let you know when I've dropped the doctor off."

"Thanks." Jim watches as he boards and she spins on her heel. She returns to the turbolift, letting herself relax and exhales all the frustration she feels. As the lift ascends, she finger combs her hair into a messy bun atop her head. The lift stops and she gets off, walking to her private quarters so she can quickly change into something that wont make her sweat every particle of water in her body like her captain's uniform will.

Jim rifles through her drawers and finds a fuchsia pink, ikat print draped, backless dress with a braided fringe belt and some white, peep toe gladiator sandal wedges. She doesn't bother with jewelry unless it's a special occasion. She grabs a brush and tides her bangs so that they fall neatly across the top edge of her eyebrows. Then she quickly spritzes a bit of citrus perfume on her inside wrists, the back of her ears, between her cleavage, over her stomach, and the inside of her thighs.

Yeah—she's thoroughly weird like that.

When all is said and done, her feet carry her to the Transporter Room, where she gets beamed down to New Vulcan. She makes her way through the human camps to her tent, and when she goes inside she finds Spock waiting for her from behind her work desk. She smiles and says, "Hey you."

"Jim," he greets in turn. She notices that he's dressed in a dark brown tunic jacket with black trousers and shoes.

"You look nice," Jim murmurs as she walks over.

Spock straightens the line of his shoulders at her approach, and there is something genuinely warm in his eyes as he studies her. "As do you," he returns.

Jim just gives a modest shrugs. "So what do I owe this pleasure?" she asks as she blows her bangs from her eyes and stands opposite to him on the other side of her desk.

"My grandmother and father have requested our presence. We are to meet them in my grandmother's marquee for lunch," Spock explains as he stands and rounds the desk to stand before her.

"What? Why?" Jim asks as her blue eyes narrow in suspicion. She leans back against the edge of her desk as he takes a step closer. "What did you tell them?"

"I do not know what you mean," Spock says as he takes another step closer. "I have not talked with them since the day before last."

Jim lifts her fingers and begins to chew on her nails. She's got all sort of warning bells going off in her head. "You're dad's going to ask for that essay, I know it," she mutters miserably.

Spock takes another step closer until Jim is flushed up against him. His nostrils flare slightly as his brow furrows curiously. He lowers his head and presses his nose against the crook of her neck. He says, "You smell of oranges."

Jim laughs and coils her fingers into the silk fabric jacket. She hoists herself onto the edge of her desk as she uses her grip to tug him closer until he's standing between her legs. "It's my perfume," she explains before she carefully slides her hands up his chest and to his ears where she strokes her fingers along the tips.

Spock rumbles pleasantly as she continues to fiddle with his ears. He watches her for a long moment, tracing his dark eyes over the different angles of her face. Minutes pass like this and his eyes continue to move as though there is so much about her face that he has to process. He says, "Jim, I am perplexed by your fascination with my ears."

"Well don't ask me to explain because I've no idea either. I just like to touch them." Jim shrugs simply as he goes on watching her with that probing gaze of hers. She finally drops her hands and grips the edge of her desk. Once or twice she thinks about have sex on top of it, but they are compulsory thoughts that she doesn't really feel the need to carry out. She content with just being close to Spock and harboring his attention. "So, shall we grace your kin with our presence?"

"I believe that would be wise."

They arrive at T'Pau's marquee some moments later and enter to find, not only Sarek and T'Pau, but Sybok and (who Jim can only assume to be) his mother as well. They are sitting around the level table with fresh cups of tea and they all look up when Jim and Spock enter.

Jim feels Spock stiffen behind her, and his discomfort and surprise roll off of him in bleak waves. The hand he has resting on her lower back even twitches in agitation.

T'Pau lifts an eyebrow as she looks between them before she gestures for them to join them at the table. "Spock. James. It is good that you have arrived," she says.

Spock guides Jim more to the left, where she sits down beside T'Pau and he seats himself by Sybok so that Jim will not have to.

Sybok eyes sharpen in amusement and he hides a slightly knowing smirk behind the rim of his cup. "_Plenty of space beside me, little brother. You did not have to place her there,_" he comments calmly in Vulcan as he lowers his cup.

"_I do not think that would be wise,_" Spock curtly states as T'Pau pours him a cup of tea.

Jim presses her knee against Spock's as a gesture of comfort and Spock's tense shoulders relaxes slightly.

T'Pau pours Jim a cup of tea as well before setting the kettle on the middle of the table again.

Spock places his fingers, palm down, over the rim and says, "_She shares in my honor—I will drink her cup so that it will not be wasted._"

"Very well," T'Pau murmurs, easily. She looks vaguely amused as she lifts her own cup to her mouth. She tosses Sarek a pointed look and Sarek glances sharply at Jim and Spock.

Jim will definitely have to ask Spock later about the importance of what he just did. She has a feeling he just made the status of their relationship obvious to everyone in the room.

"_Sybok. Introduce me,_" the pristine, hawkish looking, older Vulcan woman beside Sarek demands.

"_Of course, mother,_" Sybok calmly replies. "This is Captain James Kirk. Captain Kirk, this is my mother. She is called Lady T'Ra."

"_I have heard a many great deal about you, James, from both Sarek and my son,_" Lady T'Ra remarks in Vulcan as she coolly assesses Jim. "_You are, as they have said, aesthetically pleasing for a Terran female._"

Jim lifts both her eyebrows at the backwards compliment.

"_She does not speak our language,_" Sarek reports to Lady T'Ra. "_You are being unnecessarily rude by addressing her as such._"

Lady T'Ra's lips twitch in amusement. "_Drink your tea, Sarek, and leave the conversation to me. She understands me well enough. Don't you, James? She bears no resemblance of confusion when we speak in our native language. I have observed as much._"

"_As have I_," T'Pau comments pointedly, even though her gaze remains on Spock. She seems to be having a silent conversation with her youngest grandson.

Spock does not fidget under his grandmother's gaze but he does lower his eyes as his left eyebrow twitches faintly.

"James?"

Jim blinks and drags her attention away from Spock, long enough to notice that Lady T'Ra, Sarek and Sybok are watching her. "I'm sorry. I'm being rude." She straightens her posture and, rather fluently, states, "_I can understand Lady T'Ra perfectly. Lady T'Ra, I thank you for your kind compliment. I only hope that my features may come into fruition as gorgeously as yours has as my age escalates. Yours certainly is a refined beauty._"

Lady T'Ra quietly preens at the compliment, and her dark eyes lose some of its critical edge. "_Your praise is refreshing,_" she passively remarks.

"_You speak Vulcan. When did you come by this knowledge?_" Sarek questions, but not unkindly. He actually sounds impressed.

"_Only recently_," Jim admits. "_I didn't realize my want or need for it until I came here. I couldn't help but to notice that I've been the focus of a lot of the conversation, but obviously the language barrier kept me from inserting my side into it. I had three days to spare._"

Spock glances at her with unconcealed amusement. He understands well enough what she means.

"_Three days,_" Sybok echoes as his dark eyes take on a sharp gleam of hunger. "_You are endlessly impressive._"

"_I am more clever than most,_" Jim lightly boasts as she meets his eyes. "_I might even be more clever than you_."

Sybok's lip twitches. "_Your ego causes you to declare questionable assumptions._"

"_Trust me, Sybok. It's not my ego,_" Jim retorts calmly as she continues to meet his gaze.

"_How has the conversation gotten away? I believe we have convened here to discuss the impending date of our bonding ceremony,_" Lady T'Ra interjects as she flicks her gaze from Sybok and Jim. "_Now it is my understanding that you, James, are Spock's intended. It is only logical that you should be invited to this private event as well._"

Jim's right knee knocks into the table and unsettles it for a fraction of a second. She places her hands on the table as she tries to apologize for her shocked reaction. "_I—I am very honored that you would think to invite me,_" she says and she looks at Spock before she looks to Lady T'Ra and Sarek. "_When is it going to be?_"

"_So you do not deny it_," Lady T'Ra replies instead.

Jim frowns. "_I'm sorry?_"

"_That you are Spock's intended._"

Jim fumbles with a reply, caught off-guard by this line of inquiry.

"_Hush, T'Ra. Do not meddle and pry,_" T'Pau coldly scolds. "_I am still the elder woman of this clan, and such inquiries are to be left to me. You benefit very little by investigating James's place with our kin. I will tell you now that I have acknowledged her as one of ours, and so has Sarek. That is enough cause to allow her to be apart of our more private ceremonies._"

Lady T'Ra's mouth shrivels unhappily but her face remains neutral otherwise. "_My apologies, Lady T'Pau._ _I meant no offense, nor did I mean to impose. I am simply used to acting as such as the eldest woman of my clan. Now that my house will soon be joined with Sarek's once more, I forget my place._"

T'Pau says nothing, doesn't even acknowledge the apology. She merely finishes off the rest of her tea before she pours herself another cup. She doesn't seem to be overly eager to see her son married off to his ex-bondmate.

Jim can often discern these subtle things from even a people so blank as Vulcans generally are. She briefly wonders how T'Pau felt about Amanda's insertion. She did say once that Amanda was good for their clan. What did that mean for T'Ra? What would that mean for her if she and Spock decided they wanted to take that final step of their relationship?

She goes a little pink at her own presumptuousness and it deepens when Spock flicks his gaze to her and quirks his eyebrow questioningly.

"_James. I ask that you let us know what you and Spock decide. The surety of your attendance, that is,_" Lady T'Ra says as she finishes her cup of tea.

A bell rings outside of T'Pau's marquee.

"_That will be our food. Sarek, Spock. I require your assistance,_" T'Pau says as she rises to her feet.

Spock and Sarek do as well and follow her out of the mouth flaps.

This leaves Jim alone with Sybok and T'Ra, who are both stripping her apart with their dark eyes for very different reasons. She tries not to fidget or show that their attention bothers her.

"How old are you, child?" Lady T'Ra asks as she motions for Sybok to pour her another cup of tea. He does without complaint.

"Twenty-one," Jim answers, taking a moment to unstrap her wedges and sit them upright under the table before she folds her legs under her again and wiggles her bare toes in relief.

"Twenty-one," Lady T'Ra echoes with slight approval. She gives Sybok a look before she turns her calculating gaze onto Jim. "I am told that a Terran woman's twenties are best for childbearing."

Jim's right knee knocks into the table in surprise, mildly jilting it again. "Lady T'Ra, I'm sure I wouldn't know such things," she hastily replies.

Lady T'Ra smirks, and it eerily echoes Sybok's. "I make no presumption that you are with child, James. I merely mean to insinuate that as young as you are, this will not be an issue for you. I do so look forward to acquiring grandchildren."

_Acquiring?_ Jim thinks with hidden distaste. _You would think she was referring to paintings or memorabilia. And wait—what did she mean she's looking forward to it?_

"And my son, Sybok—well, he has not been so swift to providing them. His grievance is that he is very selective when it comes to settling down. Though I do believe this is my fault. I always tell him that he should only join his house with a mate he deems unequivocally adequate," Lady T'Ra states as she lifts her cup of tea to her lips, taking a few moments to ingest the hot liquid inside. "Now in saying such, I must ask. What will it take for my son to acquire you?"

Jim's fingers curl into her palms and she threads her way through her anger very carefully. "Excuse me?"

"Sybok has made it known to me that he is besotted with you. I posses a habit of gratifying his whims, and if I believe I can do all that is within my power to settle his affairs, I will," Lady T'Ra calmly explains. "Second to T'Pau's clan, we are the wealthiest and most distinguished clan there is. I am content to assure you that you will be well provided for, should you desire to join with my son. Equally so, since I have plans to join my house with Sarek."

Jim coils her fingers around her ankles in attempts not to climb over the table and strangle Lady T'Ra and Sybok. "Wealth and power make little difference to me," she says, and she shouldn't even have to explain this. "And with all due respect, your not really selling your son to me like this. I understand how I may look to you but—"

"Captain Kirk," Lady T'Ra carefully interrupts. "I mean you no offense. But understand that this offer is merely a formality of sorts—a, as you may say on your world, courtesy call." She calmly lowers her cup. "Sybok has informed me of his intention of challenging Spock for his claim on you."

"I am not an object or a piece of property," Jim fumes. Really, how dare she? How dare they?

"You are a woman," Lady T'Ra states coldly. "And not of our world. So I do not expect you to understand our customs—"

"I think I get the general idea," Jim snaps. "You—"

"Do _not_ interrupt me, James," Lady T'Ra sharply rebukes.

Jim swallows down a scathing remark.

"I may have no qualms about you joining my clan, but I will not have you speaking to me as though I were your equal. Remember what you are, human. My politeness has limits that even you can push," Lady T'Ra warns coldly.

Sybok tuts, and gives his mother an amused look. "Come now, mother. I was hoping that you and James could establish a demurely stable relationship. I do not want to be caught in the middle of any future disagreements."

_Fucker, _Jim thinks as she glares at him. _How dare he even presume that he has me? I should stab him and his mother in their necks. How can Sarek marry into such an awful clan?_

Lady T'Ra finishes her cup of tea before she makes a motion for Sybok to refill the cup. "In three weeks time, at the beginning of next month, Sybok will petition T'Pau, as is tradition, for his right to challenge Spock. Since the two of you have not bonded and made no plans to do such, she will have no choice but to concede." She quiets as soon as Spock, Sarek, and T'Pau return with carts of food.

Jim dampens her glare down into something more neutral, even though she wants to flip over the table and kick Lady T'Ra and Sybok in their throats. For the sake of peace, she says nothing as Spock places a plate full of food in front of her and seats himself beside her once more with his own plate.

Sarek serves Lady T'Ra and Sybok their plates before he sits down.

T'Pau passes out the cutlery, the napkins, and a clear plastic cups filled with a gelatin red liquid.

Jim's mouth twists curiously, and she manages to stave off her irritation and anger in favor of observing the food set before her. On her plate is yellow vegetables shaped like the stalks of celery, small grey pods that look like beans, beads of (what looks to be) rice or couscous, and a small bowl of pink soup—or maybe that was some kind of dip? Jim is totally lost.

Spock must notice, because he leans over and quietly explains, "It is a traditional Vulcan midday meal."

"Okay." Jim stares at her plate before she turns her head towards him and asks, "What do I do?"

Spock looks indescribably amused. "You consume it."

Jim scowls and gives him a look. "I know that. But like—how? In what order?"

Instead of giving her verbal instructions, he places his hands on either side of his plate.

Jim hesitantly does the same before she notices that everyone is doing this with their gaze lowered to their plate.

T'Pau speaks, "I will recite a common supplication." She gives Jim a stern look. "Avert your eyes, James—you may not bare witness to my glory." In Vulcan, she continues in a prayer, "_Bless this food to our use, and those that are in present company. Give us grateful hearts, that we may achieve mercies in the proper time of need, and make us mindful of all we have. May our houses continue forever._"

There is a murmur of agreement before everyone's head lifts and they begin to eat.

It's times like this that Jim is reminded that, at the core of them, Vulcans really are spiritual beings. They may not be blatant or flagrant about it, but the spirituality is certainly there.

_I wonder if Spock prays,_ she silently thinks. _And if he does, what does he pray for?_

Jim makes a mental note to ask later. But for now, she watches as Spock dips his spoon in the pink soup/sauce before spreading some across his couscous rice. Then he takes half a spoonful and lifts it to his mouth.

Naturally, Jim decides she will do the same. She lifts it to her mouth and takes it in. At first it tastes like nothing, but then it grows salty and bitter in her mouth until it becomes so spicy that she goes pink with a sharp cough.

Five minutes later, when she feels like she's hawked up a lung, and Spock graces her with a bottle of water he has procured from God only knows where. She doesn't ask, she's too busy gratefully downing it to its midway point or until her tongue doesn't feel like it's burning.

It doesn't escape her notice that all the Vulcans in the room seem quietly amused at her antics.

"_It appears James has not the stomach for our cuisines,_" Lady T'Ra remarks in Vulcan before she places a spoonful of the yellow celery vegetable looking thing in her mouth. "_I will keep this in mind for the bonding ceremony._"

Sarek eyes her with a considerable amount of humored concern. "_Indeed,_" he agrees. "_Are you well?_"

"_Fine,_" Jim chokes before she clears her throat. "_Really. I'm okay. I just think it's the sauce. I don't think it's for me._"

"_The deep wine pottage is optionally for added flavor. You are not required to consume that with the rest of the food. Perhaps Spock should have mentioned this,_" Sybok condescendingly remarks.

Spock is not subtle with the quick glare he sends his older brother.

Jim doesn't blame him. "_I wanted to try it. Spock knows I'm curious about Vulcan dishes. I would have tried it regardless of this little fact,_" she defends.

Sybok chews, but his lips twitch into a slight smirk. "_Admirable_," he sardonically retorts.

Jim shoves a spoonful of the grey beans in her mouth to keep from replying with something equally snarky. Thankfully, it is not as unpleasant as the wine sauce had been. In fact, all of it tastes better without the wine sauce—mildly bland, but edible nonetheless. She wouldn't mind eating this a few times more. She quietly tells Spock as much and he looks indefinably pleased.

"_In two weeks, on the twenty second of November, Sarek and I will reestablish and finalize our bond,_" Lady T'Ra announces at the start of new conversation. "_We have agreed that this is an adequate date to do such._"

"_Then I shall offer my congratulations,_" T'Pau apathetically states.

Jim wills away an answering grin of amusement at T'Pau's contradictory tone. She reaches forward and grabs the gelatin red liquid when she notices that Spock (as well as everyone else) is eating it with a spoon. She figures it must be some kind of pudding. Upon first bite, she decides it tastes something like a mix between lemons and cough syrup with the texture of a cheesecake, but cold like Italian ice.

It's odd but surprisingly enough, Jim likes it.

By the time she reaches the bottom of it, Sarek, Lady T'Ra, and Sybok are rising to their feet to leave.

Jim stands with Spock as T'Pau rises to her feet. She gives Lady T'Ra and Sybok fleeting farewells before she gives Sarek a more genuine one.

Ever observant, Sarek says, "I believe I was assured of an essay, James." He inclines his head before he exits T'Pau's marquee.

Jim curses lowly and sighs. Of course he would know. Of _course_. She doesn't even know why she thought it would slip his notice.

When Spock, Jim, and T'Pau are the only ones in her tent, she says, "What did they say to you, James?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do not play coy," T'Pau lightly rebukes. "Spock, clean this mess while I pry answers from your troublesome Captain."

Spock wordlessly does as she instructs.

Jim frowns and crosses her arms defensively. "How do you even know they said anything to me?"

"I have come to know you as if you were my own. I make it my business to observe such things," T'Pau explains transiently, as though it were normal. "What was said?"

"Lady T'Ra petitioned my hand for her insufferable son's sake," Jim admits as she places her hands on her hips. "She threw her money and status in my face like I would fall to my knees in gratefulness. And then when I refused, she claimed she was only being polite and the both of them made it sound like me getting with Sybok was a sure thing. They really are horrible."

"Indeed," T'Pau agrees. "It would appear that T'Ra has not changed from what I have encountered of her in the early days of her adulthood when she and Sarek were bonded. I regret the day I allowed my own bondmate to persuade me in to allowing Sarek to extend a betrothal to T'Ra. I dare not imagine the reasoning behind his latest endeavor to reestablish their bond."

"Honestly, I was wondering that too," Jim confesses as she tosses Spock a look. "You should have told me how horrible she was. Then I would have sided with you on the whole being against your dad's decision to Vulcan marry her again."

"After your encounter with Sybok, I assumed it went without saying," Spock cleverly rejoinders.

Jim huffs and sticks her tongue out at him.

"Do not be childish," T'Pau advises.

Jim boldly sticks her tongue out at her.

T'Pau hums and quickly flicks her mouth with her fingers. "_What can be done with you?_" she murmurs in Vulcan as she turns and sits at her low level table.

Jim chuckles and rubs her tingling bottom lip as she joins her.

Spock settles beside her when he is done clearing the table. "_I often wonder the same,_" he wryly remarks.

"_Nope. You adore me,_" Jim reasons as she bumps her shoulders into his.

Spock says nothing, but the way his warm fingers stroke along the inside of her palm and up to her middle fingers under the cover of the table is enough of an answer.

Jim smiles at him and returns the kiss by stroking her fingers against his. It's a bit surprising that he would do such an intimate gesture in the company of his grandmother—not that she could see since their hands were under the table, but still. This must be considered a scandalous gesture for a people so private as Vulcans.

Spock is surprisingly bold.

"_You two will behave in my presence,_" T'Pau calmly advises before she sends them both a look. "_Do not think that because I cannot see your hands, I do not know what you are doing with them._"

Jim flushes, and so does Spock. He doesn't withdraw his hand, however, much to her pleasure. She laces her fingers with his and squeezes.

"_We share a shallow link and we are in the company of kin. Our behavior is appropriate,_" Spock calmly argues, even though the tips of his ears and cheeks are green.

T'Pau lips twitch but she does not smile or laugh. Her amusement is still blatant. "_You speak a truth_," she concedes before she turns her gaze to Jim. Switching to English, she says, "Did either of them announce a specific date on which Sybok would petition me with his challenge towards Spock?"

"The first week of December. They didn't say an exact day," Jim replies as she strokes her thumb along Spock's. "Since Spock and I are together, they can't really do that can they?"

"I am positive that they are aware of your association," T'Pau says with a solemn frown. "Nevertheless, they still have grounds for a petition. You and Spock would have to finalize your bond in order to stave off such requests."

"Huh." Jim wiggles her mouth thoughtfully before she turns to Spock. "Wanna do a Vegas quickie?"

"I will have to decline," Spock responds, immune to Jim's antics.

Jim still pouts and feigns a look of hurt.

Spock eyes flick to her lips and stay there for longer than necessary.

Something tells Jim that had T'Pau not been present, he would go through whatever it is he's thinking right now.

"I do not believe such measures will be necessary. Spock—kindly avert your eyes for a moment as I speak," T'Pau coolly instructs.

Spock flushes but drags his eyes away to face his grandmother.

Jim uses her free hand to press the back of it against her mouth as she laughs quietly.

Spock presses his thumb down into the knuckles of her middle fingers in reproach, but he gentles the touch by following it with a soft caress.

"I have come to the conclusion of how we can combat's Sybok's petition," T'Pau says. "It is sure to be met with success."

Jim eagerly leans forward and listens.

This plan is actually really genius.

Later on, in Spock's marquee, when they're sitting across from each other on his floor bed with nothing but a black and white glass chessboard between and discussing this plan once more, and I-Chaya is lying behind her (acting as a vibrating, warm backrest), she takes a moment to think about how easy this relationship feels.

"Do we call this a relationship?" Jim asks as she moves her bishop. "I don't think we ever talked about it. We kind of let it be—does it strike as odd how normal this feels? It makes me anxious because I've never—not like this. Are we going too fast? Is this what fast feels like? I mean I know how fast is, I'm all for it usually, but with us it's just like, what pace is the right pace?"

Spock looks quietly amused. "Jim, you are rambling," he remarks before he moves a pawn that takes out one of hers. "I do confess that I am surprised as well by the development of our connection. However, we have atypical compatibility, which in turn inspires our closeness. We were once friends, therefore we have prior knowledge of one another's personalities and the traits that lie therein."

"Meaning…"

Spock takes three more of her pawns before he looks up and pins her to the spot with his dark eyes. She feels that look right down to her gut and it practically makes her feel winded. He says, "You and I feel as much apart of each other than we ever have with any other individual. Jim—you are mine as I am yours. The rest comes naturally. It is not a necessary worry to reflect the pace."

Jim stares at him before she holds out a hand. She smiles softly when he strokes his hand down her middle fingers, around the spaces, over her palm and across the inside of her wrist. She returns the gesture as his eyes warm with an indiscernible expression of content joy. She says, "Tell me how you—what you think about Sybok and his mother?"

Spock pulls his hand away, but not without sliding his thumb along the side of her index finger. He concentrates on the board once more, keeping silent before he replies, "I find them intolerable, as I have always."

"Does it bother you that he wants me?" Jim asks as she looks up at him from under her lashes.

Spock dark eyes remain on the board as he moves another piece. "He is bothersome regardless," he decides.

"So you're not jealous?"

Spock does look up at that and he furrows his brow. "I have no cause to be," he says with barely concealed confusion. In Vulcan, he explains, "_You have not shown any interest in him or any other. I have no reason to exhibit signs of territorial behavior._"

"_Ah, so you admit that Vulcans are capable of jealousy?_" Jim questions. Her body is swimming in bliss and she wants to knock the chessboard out of the way so she can spend the rest of the day kissing him.

"Vulcans are capable of much," Spock merely replies in English. "Check."

Jim sits up at that and hastily studies the board. "Rematch," she demands, shaking her fingers down over the board so all of the remaining chess pieces topple over messily.

Spock wordlessly resets the board.

Jim watches him work as she strokes I-Chaya's ear. "I left my shoes at your grandmother's," she realizes. And just as abruptly, she says, "The thing today with Kodos—did it go okay?"

"As much as was expected," Spock says. "He was silent throughout the duration of his processing."

Jim sucks on her bottom lip and tries not to dwell on it. "Dr. Karidian got off easy. Six years and a fine."

"That does not seem suitable for his actions," Spock concurs and she just loves him a little bit more for it.

"This worries me, Spock. I mean it really does," Jim admits. "If Starfleet serves out these kind of sentences under the banner of the Federation, then what does that mean? Where are their priorities? As if I didn't know." She flexes her toes and leans back against I-Chaya. "I'm afraid with this war, I'll see just what they're capable of. And I might not like it."

"There will one day spring from the brain of science a machine or force so fearful in its potentialities, so absolutely terrifying, that even man, the fighter, who will dare torture and death in order to inflict torture and death, will be appalled, and so abandon war forever. The direct use of force is such a poor solution to any problem, it is generally employed only by small children and large nations," Spock reports in that intellectual tone of his as he makes the first move. He looks up and meets her gaze. "Jim, does the possibility of our involvement frighten you?"

Jim's mouth twists sadly as she laces her fingers over the top of her head, elbows sticking out, and she looks up while she leans back even more against I-Chaya. "I thought we would be justified in going to war with the Romulans and the Klingons. But now I'm realizing that there is a bigger picture here. I mean, I was absolutely ready to take up arms without questioning any order I were to be given and that's not who I am. I am not some mindless soldier hanging on the every word of my commander. I am an explorer—an ambassador. It's our job to extend the olive branch to every corner of space there is. But here we are, preparing for war and I can't help but to wonder if we never really even tried to set up some kind of peace summit with them. I'm wondering if the Federation did not want this all along. Are we bullies? I don't want to be a bully. I want to be a helper. And if I cannot do that, then I can at least do them no harm."

Spock watches her for a long time and there is something soft like pride and fondness. He carefully pulls the board out of the way before he crawls forward, sliding the hot palm of his right hand over the outside of her ankle, up her calf and finally curling those warm fingers in the inside curve of her knee.

Jim closes her eyes against the gentle touch, and savors the heat that lingers there, shivering when she feels him draw closer.

"May I?" he murmurs as he presses his cheek against hers.

Jim shivers and nods as he uses his other hand to thread up into her hair and tug it free of the messy bun it's in. She feels her hair fall down around her shoulders and he tangles his fingers in it before he draws back and kisses her. She makes a small sound before she wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him closer.

I-Chaya huffs and picks herself up, moving out of the way and picking a space in another corner of the tent.

Jim falls back into the space that I-Chaya once occupied with a small laugh of surprise and Spock follows her down with a twitch of his lips. She winds her fingers around the pointed lobes of his ears and widens her knees to make room for him. She stares up at him before she traces her fingers along the line of his nose. She says, "So, politics—that honestly makes you want to kiss me?"

Spock furrows his brow he keeps himself propped over her by the use of his elbows. "There are many things about you that creates the impulse," he admits, simply. "You are—astounding."

Jim leans up and kisses him quick before she falls back. "As are you, and even more then," she softly replies. She rubs her legs along his waist, liking the way his clothes feel against her bare legs. She strokes her fingers over his eyes, liking the way his lashes twitches under the pads of her fingers. "You have beautiful eyes."

Spock kisses the inside of her palm. He murmurs, "There are those who would contest that statement. In the days of my youth, I was often ridiculed for my eyes?"

Jim frowns as she lowers her hands to her stomach before she says, "Why?"

"I have my mother's eyes. Human eyes," Spock clarifies with a slight level of difficulty.

Jim takes a moment to really peer up at him and at the design of his eyes. "Well I think they are really gorgeous. Unique—set's you apart from the rest."

Spock's dark eyes dart to every angle of her face quickly before he lowers his head and kisses her, pouring into her lips his wordless gratitude.

Jim places her hands on either side of his cheeks before she slides them down to his chest and pushes him back. She grins and says, "Now you give me a compliment."

Spock's lips twitch in amusement. "You exhibit impeccable moles."

"Oh babe, that is so not a compliment."

"I would like to disagree."

Jim snorts and, before he has time to react, she rolls them over so she's straddling his waist. She leans forward until her hair falls like a golden curtain around them and kisses him with a coy grin. She rests a gentle kiss on the side of his mouth and starts a trail down his chin to her cheek where she lays her cheek against his collarbone and tucks her hands between their chests.

Spock places a hot palm between her bare shoulder blades before he curls the other between her hands, which is sandwiched between their chests.

Jim yawns and traces her eyes along the ceiling of the tent. "Do you feel like humoring me for a second? Let's play a hypothetical game called 'Would You Rather'?"

"I am unfamiliar with this game."

Jim grins to herself before she explains, "I give you two options, and they both have to be wild, forcing you to choose one of the least ridiculous of the two, all the while exposing some peculiar truths about you I wouldn't have normally considered. Think of it as a way for us to get to know each other."

"Very well."

"Cool, I'll go first of course. Now—would you rather punch a baby in the face or kick a baby in the face?"

888

Scotty invites Jim to his tent under the guise of a breakfast date.

She most certainly knows better. This has Uhura written all over it.

When she gets there, Scotty and Uhura are waiting for her at their low level table with a spread of eggs, biscuits, waffles, pancakes, and bacon.

Jim is really suspicious.

"Oh stop looking like that and come sit down," Uhura huffs and makes a gesture to the empty side of the table.

Jim grumbles but she kicks off her green flip-flops, plopping down across from Uhura and Scotty. Not that she doesn't enjoy their company or a good meal, but she could totally be making out with Spock right now until she couldn't feel her lips.

Scotty fumbles with a plate he piles food on and hands to Jim.

Uhura gracefully makes his plate along with her own, all the while moving the flavored syrups out of Jim's reach without ever batting an eye.

"Everyone is against me," Jim whines as she makes a grab for the blueberry syrup.

"No," Uhura says and gives her a warning glare.

"Ah, love," Scotty says around a bite of bacon. "Couldn't we just let her have a wee bit?"

"I love you, Scotty. You are my favorite," Jim swears.

"And have both Spock and Leo banging on my door so they can chew me out for putting her on her death bed? Absolutely not," Uhura refuses.

"I wouldn't die. Just, like, break out in a few hives," Jim tries to reason.

"No."

"Fine. Dishonor on you and your cow."

Scotty laughs as Uhura throws Jim an exasperated look and hands the apple cinnamon syrup over to her.

Jim playfully bats at her eyes as if she were going to cry before shaping her hands into a heart symbol. "Okay. Total take back," she says as she accepts the syrup and pours it over her stack of pancakes. "Honor on all your cows."

"Whatever," Uhura snorts and they take a few moments to eat silently, their knives and forks clinging noisily against their plates. "So, the real reason Monty and I asked you here is—"

"To rub it in my face that you and everyone else was right about me and Spock getting together?" Jim interjects around a mouthful of eggs and biscuits.

Scotty and Uhura both drop their silverware in surprise.

Jim winces and a slow blush makes its way onto her face. "So you definitely didn't know," she mutters as she pours herself a cup of pineapple orange juice. "Um—yeah. So he and I are like, together now."

"Since when?" Uhura hisses after she snaps out of the surprised haze.

"Spock's birthday, maybe?" Jim says into her cup of juice.

"Congratulations," Scotty says, maintaining a look of astonishment.

Jim mumbles a thanks and uses her fork to cut into her pancakes. "So what did you bring me here to discuss?"

"Well," Uhura starts before she laces her fingers with Scotty's and they share a look. "We were wondering if you would do us the honor of marrying us."

Jim, honest to god will deny this later, squeals and claps her hands together. "Oh my God! Oh my _God! _Really? Like for real for real?" she asks with widened eyes.

Uhura laughs and nods with a gentle smile.

Scotty lifts their joined hands and kisses the back of hers. "Show her the ring," he murmurs.

Uhura untangles their fingers and props her hand until the gleamingly _impressive_ diamond ring is eye level with Jim.

"Holy fucking shit is that a continent on your finger?" Jim jokingly exclaims as she grabs Uhura's slim fingers to get a good look at the engagement band. "Wow."

"I'll say," Scotty self-deprecatingly grumbles around a mouthful of biscuit and eggs and waffles and bacon. "Took a whole lot of convincing on my part. First I had to call my gram and fuss at her until she agreed to give it over. It's been in my family for generations you see, and I felt it was time for me to make use of it since no one else was. Then I had to talk Isan into bringing it to me since he was already coming our way. Then I had to be romantic, suffering through hardships with a dwindling hope that I could somehow talk my Nyota into agreeing to spend a lifetime with me—"

"Hush," Uhura rebukes with unconcealed affection. "You barely got the words out before I wrapped myself around you and said yes. I don't call that a hardship."

"Aye, well," Scotty says and smiles when she kisses him on the cheek. "Perhaps not." He turns and kisses her, murmuring ridiculous terms of endearments that make her laugh against his lips.

Jim smiles as she watches them and finishes off her pancakes and eggs. "So when should I save the date?"

"Not anytime soon," Uhura says as she pulls away from Scotty and licks the syrup that they've passed between them off of her lips. "We're hoping New Years?"

"Easy for me to remember the anniversaries that way," Scotty chimes and laughs when Uhura scowls and knocks her elbow into his side.

"Cool, I'm totally game for it. Done it once, done it a million times," Jim remarks with a casual shrug and a small grin. "So yes, I will marry you. But um, where am I marrying you? On the ship?"

"God, no," Uhura quickly says, even though Scotty looks very keen on the idea. "I want to have my feet on the ground and I want to have my honeymoon in the Dominican Republic."

Scotty's mouth shrugs as he nods. "Yeah, that doesn't sound unpleasant," he agrees.

Uhura gives Jim a pointed look and rolls her eyes, but she seems very happy. "Anyway, I was thinking that since we have so much family on both sides, and we cant decide between us to do it from our place of origin, we've decided to meet on middle ground which I feel is San Francisco."

"San Francisco. Got it," Jim says as she grabs a second helping of eggs and waffles.

"And thank you, Jim, for agreeing to it," Scotty says, looking as genuine as they come.

"What's such a thing between friends right?" Jim says with a meager shrug. "And again, congratulations. Now, um—if you happen to have children, I just want to elect myself as godmother. Gonna throw that out there now because the early bird does indeed get the worm."

Uhura throws a biscuit at her.

Jim happily recants these events to Spock later on as they do a formal walkthrough of the city and check on it's progress.

Spock doesn't say much besides commenting on the fact that she has managed to forget her shoes once more.

At this rate, Jim will run out of shoes to forget.

888

In the middle of November, when Jim feels like they've avoided each other enough, she strides to Bones's tent with a purpose.

Bones is sleep when she invites herself in, but of course, then again, it was practically the middle of the night.

She toes off her gladiator sandals and quietly crawls onto his floor bed, lying over his comforter on her stomach and resting her chin over her folded arms.

Bones grumbles with a sigh and rolls on his back so that he can give her a sleepy-eyed glare. He's always been a light sleeper.

"Spock and I are together."

"I know." Bones sighs and runs a hand through his unkempt hair. "Everyone knows."

"Yeah, true as that may be, I thought we agreed that avoiding each other is not the best line of communication."

"Kettle. Pot."

Jim flicks his nose and he swats at her hand. "Seriously though," she insists. "I just—I thought we were okay."

"We are, Jim," Bones assures as he presses his fingers into the corner of his eyes. "But I'm having a hard time swallowing the fact that I knew this would happen sooner or later. It's hard."

Jim can understand beyond reason what he means. "I'm sorry," she says because she doesn't know what else to say.

"I'm not," Bones admits as he drops his hands to stare up at the ceiling of his tent. "I'm upset, and a bit depressed. But I'm also glad that you're starting to get everything you've always deserved. That's all I want for you, Jim. Even if it's not with me."

Jim eyes go a bit watery, and a stab of mutual heartache guts her out. "I do love you," she chokes and hugs him to hide her face.

Bones swears low before he sits them up and hugs her back. "Love you too," he mumbles into her hair. "Don't think I could ever stop. You mean something to me." His voice sounds a little strained. "Tell me your happy."

Jim sniffs with a hiccup. "I am," she promises. "I am." She sniffs and pulls back so she can wipe her cheeks dry. "I'm so happy that it scares the ever-living shit out of me."

Bones nods, even though his eyes are a little red. "I still don't like him," he warns.

Jim laughs a little at that. "Yeah," she says. "I figured as much."

"I can tolerate him enough just so long as he treats you right," Bones concedes but barely. He takes a moment to study her. "Have you two…?"

Jim blinks at him before she punches him in the arm. "No, you perve. Not that it's any of your business." She shakes her head. "We're letting everything happen naturally."

"I'm only asking as your doctor," Bones gripes defensively. "You and he should get a physical before you do anything. Vulcans can contract certain sexually transmitted—"

"_La la la la la la la_, not listening!" Jim exclaims as she slaps her hands over her ears.

Bones scowls and pins her arms to her sides. "Use protection. Vulcans are highly fertile beings."

"Bones, you know I can't pregnant," Jim replies, humor dying quickly. She hates this conversation.

"All things are possible," Bones argues. "You wouldn't be the first to stumble upon that kind of miracle."

"Can we not, please," Jim says as she folds her legs under her. "If it makes you feel better, I will get a physical with Spock before we take that step."

"Damn straight." Bones gaze softens. "I'm sorry, Jim. I don't mean to be as pushy as I am, but I care. And I will always care."

"As will I," Jim swears as she holds out her pinky.

Bones snorts and winds his own around hers.

Jim waits two beats before she says, "Let's ransack the Enterprise's kitchens for ice cream for old times sake. Tomorrow I have to attend Sarek's bonding ceremony and let me tell you—not looking forward to it."

888

_Nu Shi'Kahr_ reaches full completion on the sixth of December.

Ironically enough, this is the same time that Sybok and Lady T'Ra bring his petition of challenge to T'Pau, who calmly accepts and redirects them to the Vulcan Science Academy.

Much to their confusion, they are led to the third level in a classroom the span of a hundred yards, comprised of belowground individual learning pods/vessels.

Upon further inspection, they notice that Jim and Spock, along with Sarek and Prime Spock, are standing on the edge of one pod directly in the center of the room.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lady T'Ra demands. One would think she would be more welcoming to the presence of her bondmate, but as it were, after the bonding ceremony, Lady T'Ra has begun to show her true colors.

Jim still doesn't get why Sarek willingly stays bonded to her, but she doesn't question it.

"Calm your fury, T'Ra," T'Pau passively replies. "They are within their limits. They are standing witnesses."

Lady T'Ra still seems aggrieved and perplexed.

Jim decides to step in. "Allow me to explain what's happening," she says with a shallow smile. "According to some of your more ancient, but still relevant, bylaws—I am allowed to take up the mantle of my intended, should he give me his direct permission to do so on his behalf." She takes a moment to look to Spock. "May I assume myself into the situation?"

"Seeing as how you are already directly involved, I would not suggest otherwise," Spock replies easily.

Jim looks back to Lady T'Ra. "Well looks like I've got the go ahead I need. Therefore I am offering an alternative challenge to Sybok's more physical petition. Which is this: my intellect versus his. We go toe to toe in these pods, earning points based on our academic agility and rate of response. If I lose, he gets me."

"And if I should lose?" Sybok questions, interjecting himself into the conversation with some intrigue.

Jim gives a genuine smirk. "You accept the position of head of the xenopology department—indefinitely. And you don't bother us with this request again."

Sybok furrows his brow. "Very well. I accept."

Jim nods and turns on her heel. She easily slides down the curve of the pod into the middle (she's got incredible balance because of all the surfing) and she clasps her hands behind her, patiently waiting.

Sybok inhabits the learning pod opposite hers and the room instantly activates.

The computer says, "_Assessment sequence commencing in five, four, three, two, one_—"

Jim watches as her learning pod illuminates with virtual maps and three-dimensional diagrams that match each and every question flying her way.

In the span of an hour, they run through universal history, social science, law, biology, mathematics and so on.

Jim doesn't waver and she doesn't even give in. She's confident she will win this because of two facts. One: Jim is a fucking genius, okay? There should be none who doubt it. Two: it's the peak season of New Vulcan, which means Sybok is very nearly succumbing to the effects of _pon farr_. His concentration will be shot and his response time will be delayed because of certain biological issues.

Needless to say, when they reach the two-hour mark of this little mental tennis match, Sybok regrettably withdraws, which is an automatic failure on his side.

Jim wishes she could take credit for this genius plan, but she can't. It was all T'Pau, who knew, without a doubt, that it would be better to challenge him intellectually than physically. In the peak of _pon farr_, adult Vulcan males gain three times the strength than they usually possess.

Spock, who has not experienced even the tale-tell signs of _pon farr_, and most likely will not until he is twenty-five, would not have had a chance, had he initiated in a physical altercation with Sybok.

Something tells Jim that T'Pau knew this, and cleverly used such a fact against Sybok and his mother, who must have planned it just the same for those very reasons.

Jim climbs out of the learning pod with the help of Prime Spock.

"Well done," Prime Spock remarks with an air of amused fondness.

"Naturally," Jim murmurs in reply, gracing him with a smile.

Spock and Sarek are assisting Sybok, who is wracked with sweat, flushed green and practically crippled by the rippling shudders overwhelming his body.

"Spock—I believe it would be wise for you to escort James elsewhere," T'Pau swiftly advises. "I do not know that we will be able to restrain Sybok, should he decide that she is an acceptable mate to alleviate the burning."

Spock inclines his head and leads Jim out with a hot palm placed at the small of her back.

Jim says, "I'm hungry. Peacocking my intelligence has given me a crazy appetite."

"Indeed. The display was quite impressive," Spock acknowledges. "Would you like to go to the Mess marquee?"

"It won't really be there. Everyone's packing everything up since we finished. I think the Mess on the Enterprise is open though."

"I am amendable to this suggestion."

888

The Enterprise plots a course for Earth on the eighth of December in light of a mission well done and completed.

New Vulcan is properly equipped with every essential element needed in order to maintain and survive.

T'Pau, who has taken up the mantle of leadership in light of the old Vulcan Council's willful extraction, spearheads all decisions concerning the good of the people and the city. Though, Jim later learns that the event that transpired resulting in thousands of Vulcans departing for the North Mountains, will go on to be known as _Lo'uk Dahshauk_ or 'The Great Separation'. Despite the added loss, the remaining Vulcans are still better for it. They have their homes and their medical wards and schools and libraries and shrines. Even if it is not the home they used to know, with time, it can be an almost replicated echo.

Jim shares her goodbyes with Prime Spock at his newly assigned condo over a lunch that includes T'Pau. She gives them both a hug and strokes her fingers along the back of their hands in the human equivalent of a cheek kiss and promises to remain in constant communication. When she can pry herself away from them, she meets Spock and they go to his father's home for a quick exchange of goodbyes. Thankfully Lady T'Ra is off elsewhere with Sybok.

Sarek sternly implores them to remain in constant communication with him as well. He also insists that he should be the first to know when and if Jim and Spock decide they want to finalize and complete their bond and not a moment later. He urges Spock to contact him if he feels afflicted in anyway, for it may be signs of an oncoming blood fever. It has touched a vast amount of Vulcans already and it is good that they finished when they had.

Captain Daily and his crew, along with the remaining workers of the carnival/circus, have already departed a day earlier. Leighton was nowhere to be seen, but that was to be expected. So Captain Daily extended his gratitude and goodbyes on his behalf, and he also swore that Jim had an ally in him. Whatever she may need in the future, he would be happy to attempt to provide.

Spock and Jim beam aboard her ship and make their way to the bridge. When they arrive, Jim goes through the standard station check before she gives Sulu the go ahead to take them home. It takes them two days to travel, and when they draw closer to Earth, well, here's where things get really complicated.

As Jim stands at Uhura's station after being waved over, Uhura describes a transmission she received from Starfleet that specifies how the Enterprise will have to undergo yet another refitting. This time for greater security measures, larger living quarters designed to the tastes of each and every officer, a more advanced warp core, and extensive firepower. They don't explain why this needs to happen, only that Admiral Marcus ordered for all of Starfleet's vessels to be refitted to these specifications.

Jim has some sneaking suspicions as to why.

Apparently this renovation will take about two months, meaning that Jim and the rest of her crew will be placed on shore leave for that duration of time.

The Enterprise won't be re-commissioned until the end of January, early February of next year.

Jim is not a happy camper. She was really hoping to be able to get the go ahead to begin properly assuming and completing missions tasked to the Enterprise by Starfleet. It's been a year now and she's only completed _two _missions.

Would it be beyond her to feel like she was being jerked around?

Jim is sitting in her captain's chair (sulking) thinking of all the ways she'll have to kill time for the next two months and it pretty much keeps her (not so) pleasantly distracted as Rand walks her through all the paperwork she has to sign off for. She's entertaining the idea of whisking Spock away to some remote island on the pacific where they drink and have naked beach sex when Uhura informs her that she has an urgent communication from Earth.

"Forward it to my ready room," Jim instructs as she stands crosses the bridge to go to her private office. She punches in the key code that gives her access and as the door swishes close behind her, she treks over to her desk and flicks on her monitor.

It's Winona.

To say that Jim is surprised would be a _major _understatement.

"I'll make this brief," Winona says. "Frank's dead."

Jim blinks, baffled.

"He left a living will, which his lawyer just contacted me about," Winona goes on to say. "He said legally, he couldn't fully disclose it with me without you. What was written in it was meant, in part, for you. I have him on the line."

A forty-something man with auburn hair and square spectacles appears on half of the screen, where a line divides his link from Winona's. "Good evening, Ms. Kirk. My name is Donald Newberry. I am Mr. Emerson's lawyer, and I aided and guided his construction of his last will and testament, and he had specified to me that in the event of his passing, I was to read the contents of his will to you. Do you understand everything that has been explained?"

"Uh, yes," Jim says, still confounded.

"Good. Now, Ms. Kirk—understand that the contents of this will, in most part, are merely requests that you are not obligated to fulfill. Should you decided that you want to forgo the responsibilities he has designated to you, the role of responsibility will pass over to Mrs. Cunningham, seeing as how she is his sister," Donald clarifies, indicating to Winona. "Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Alright. I won't waste any of your time," Donald assures. "On June of 2249, Mr. Franklin Casey Emerson, was diagnosed with aggressive prostate adenocarcinoma. Though in this day and age, it can be treated and cured, but if it is caused by a genetic anomaly, there is a low chance of survival. In revelation of this, he has forwarded his best efforts to get his affairs in order by investing all his assets and currency in ways that will expand and grow for the benefit of ensuring that his loved ones are well and soundly financially looked after, long after his passing. As you may or may not know, he used to work for a construction company that held contracts with Starfleet, but because of an unforeseeable inflation in the business market, he lost his job and his shares because of the company's attempt to lower their costs concerning payroll and employment. Looking back and through all the documentation, Mr. Emerson was able to discover that he could file a wrongful termination suit since he was in fact major shareholder for this construction company that was a start-up business. It was never explained to him that because of his time and money and dedication, he was a vital part in getting the company to where it stands today. The case was brought to court, he won, and he was awarded a lump sum of 4 million credits, plus major shares and continual earning percentages in the company."

Jim inhales sharply.

"Mr. Emerson used what he was rewarded on your behalf, Ms. Kirk. He filed a death gratuity suit against the Federation and Starfleet in regards to the sacrifice your father made to ensure the safety of the entire planet. He felt that, as his daughter and sole heir, you deserved loss compensation, which will benefit not only you but also your children and their children and on and on. Now, I am very happy to inform you that, though it took three years and some very low-key back and forth exchanges, he eventually won the suit and as soon as I can get you down to my office to sign off on it, you will be awarded 30 million credits plus an annual pension of 350,000 credits, which is an income that will extend until your bloodline ceases to exist."

Jim leans back into her seat and presses her shaking hands to her mouth.

"I know this is a lot to take in, but if you can bare with me a bit longer, I have more to get through," Donald says. "Mr. Emerson explained an explicit desire for you, Ms. Kirk, to continue the work he intended to start. Again, as you may or may not know, he has a daughter—Ms. Jenna Etta Talbot—and he has left her as his beneficiary to all his wealth and assets, which include a piece of property in Riverside, Iowa. Are you familiar with Ms. Talbot?"

"No," Jim admits. She didn't even know that Frank had children or that he used to work for a construction company.

"Well, as I said, she is his only child. He wanted to prepare his house for her and her family so that they could live there, but he passed on before he could begin the work. Now he was aware that this might happen, which is why he designated to you this job, should you accept it. He also wanted you to personally take care of his funeral arrangements. He had a wish to be cremated. He left a lump sum for both the renovation and the funeral in the amount of 250,000 credits."

Jim leans forward and hides her face in her hands. She feels so overwhelmed right now. Had this been what Frank was trying to tell her during his impromptu call?

"Ms. Kirk, here is the important part. Do you wish to take on these responsibilities? If not, I need you to verbally clarify that you would renounce all involvement in the proceedings so that it may pass to Mrs. Cunningham in your stead," Donald advises. "Understand this will not effect the inheritance owed to you. That is something completely different. Mr. Emerson did not leave you anything aside from his aid in assuring that you are provided with the death gratuity and pension owed to you on your father's behalf."

Jim's mind is reeling and her bones feel like they might vibrate out of her skin.

"Ms. Kirk?"

Jim lowers her hands and straightens as she flicks her gaze between Winona and Donald. They both stare at her with expectation. She chews on her bottom lip before she exhales, shaking her head mildly and gives them her answer.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_If the pacing comes off as rushed then I apologize. I am attempting to finish this part of the series before I start school this Wednesday. I promise the next part will be spectacular. In the meantime, the last chapter is just a click away._


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Ten**

**STARDATE 225312.10**

**San Francisco, California**

**Port of San Francisco Bar**

The place is packed, wall to wall, corner to corner. The flashing lights flicker and beam in pulsing variations hitting the black walls, the glass tables, the bottle of liquors behind the bar, and the cups in the hands of the patrons.

Amongst the sea of faces (both alien and human), a tall and pale man outfitted in the standard black Starfleet uniform with the insignia rank of commander, strides towards the back of the bar with a purpose.

There are cages hanging from the ceiling with masked and costumed figures on the inside, grinding against the bars and showing off their flexibility. The Commander avoids the mindless people sporting glow-in-the-dark jewelry and waving around their glow sticks as they stumble about pathetically, lost in the haze of their ignorance.

The Commander surpasses the DJ booth in the far corner, beside the curtained VIP tables and stares at the largely bald and muscled man guarding the table shrouded behind purple drapes. Curtly, he says, "I'm expected."

"Sure you are, sweetheart," the guard sneers.

"Andrew, play nice," a soft and sultry voice from behind the curtain, says. "He is my guest, let him through."

The guard grits his teeth before he steps out of the way and makes a sharp gesture with his bulbous chin.

The Commander steps through as a shorthaired, attractive brunette in a leather skirt and a leopard pink shirt stands and clacks over to him in her high heels. "Mr. Herring, I presume?"

The Commander quirks an eyebrow and stares down blankly at the manicured hand she extends to him. "John Harrison," he corrects curtly before he surpersedes her and seats himself on one side of the booth table. "You are Mawly Mawne."

"I prefer Maw-Maw," she corrects before striding over and seating herself opposite from him. She pulls out a cigarette and lights it with the use of a silver lighter. She takes a greedy inhale, snapping her lighter shut as her red lipstick smudges against the filter. "Well, Mr. Harrison—I must say that I am always interested in learning why someone of your caliber would pull upon my services. What would your bosses at Starfleet say I wonder?"

"The man I work for is a single-minded ape. I know exactly what he thinks, and as long as I continue to provide him with my particular expertise, he could care less what I do in my spare time," Harrison coldly explains. "But as it were, the information I need cannot be traced back to me. My thumb mark is uniquely noticeable—more so in my line of profession. I don't need anyone asking questions about certain aspects of my research."

Maw-Maw smirks around a cloud of smoke. "Which is why you hired me."

"Which is why I hired you," Harrison confirms with an echo. He places a pale hand on the table and taps the surface.

"Slow down, sugar," Maw-Maw chuckles as she crosses her legs and unbuttons her leopard pink blouse until her cleavage can be seen. She holds his gaze as she uses her free hand to dip her fingers between her tan breasts, extracting the chip attached to the end of the thin chain around her neck. "I need to make sure that you compensate me first before I hand over the file." She yanks the necklaces off before dropping it to the table.

Harrison's face remains blank as he reaches forward and drags the chip to him. From the inner pockets of his leather trench, he extracts a slim PADD and presses the chip to it. A green beam of light scans back and forth across the screen of the PADD before it draws in around the chip, illuminating it with an ethereal blue for several minutes before it dies altogether. Harrison tosses the chip back and says, "I believe you'll find it all there."

Maw-Maw grinds the tip of her cigarette on the surface of the table before she reaches under her and extracts a manila file from a pink handbag. She slaps it down and slides it over to him.

Harrison places a palm over it. "And this is it?"

"Everything you wanted to know in a nutshell. Not an easy find either," Maw-Maw reports as she clicks her manicured fingernails against the surface of the table. "Someone deferred her information and it took me awhile to realize that all the shit information I was digging up was tabloid fodder—meaning that little miss peach is deliberately filed under a different name. Part of the Federation's shitty witness protection program. Apparently she testified against someone big when she was fourteen and so from then on all of her _real_ legal documentation such as birth records, health records, academic records, so on and so forth, is archived under the penname Erin Marilyn. Everything else that can be considered public knowledge or someone who's stalking her and means to do her harm will be mislead by what they find archived under James Tiberius Kirk."

Harrison stares blankly at her. "I thank you for your efforts," he says before he rises to his feet and tucks the file under his arm.

Maw-Maw stands as well with a smirk. "I thank you for your services. Let's do it again sometime."

Harrison says nothing. He turns and strides out.

Maw-Maw's smirks drop as she glares at his back. She steps up to Andrew. "I don't trust people like him."

Andrew steps inside with a snort. "Pale assholes?" he asks as he kisses his way down her neck.

Maw-Maw shoves him away and turns back to the table. "People I can't get a read on." She grabs the chip off the table and her PADD. "If he didn't pay me my dues, I give you permission to hunt him down and cut open his throat."

Andrew falls back into the booth with a smirk as he slides a hand into the front of his pants and wiggles his hips with a content sigh.

Maw-Maw presses the chip to the screen of her PADD and it sizzles with a blaring red before she's lost in a vacuum of flames.

The building shudders with the minor explosion and the windows bursts open with a shower of glass and fire, causing the people on the streets to duck and scream in fright.

Harrison, who is standing across the street, smirks before he spins on his heel and heads back to Starfleet headquarters. Along the way he opens the file and looks at the picture paper-clipped to the very top corner of the paperwork. He tugs it free and holds it up, studying it with calculating eyes. The plans that come to mind swirl in a symphony equations and timing.

(**_picture of scene above can be found in my livejournal in the same chapter at the end_**)


End file.
